


the shifting light of stars

by freefan1412



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, Gen, Moral Ambiguity, POV Third Person Limited, Suitless Darth Vader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-12-01 21:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefan1412/pseuds/freefan1412
Summary: Obi-Wan never needed to ask Padme for Anakin's location. That has consequences.





	1. Leia; Vader

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this gathering dust on my hard drive for years. 40k+ words just sitting around doing nothing...

If it weren't for her senatorial training, Leia Organa would be panicking. As it was, she was just barely refraining from doing so by forcing her thoughts into more productive directions.

The high sizzling of blaster bolts sounded in the distance. Explosions whacked the ship.

The ground shook. “Threepio, come here.”

“Oh, this is dreadful. Mistress, you must escape! Surely -”

The loyal, if dramatic and chatty, protocol droid was grating on patience Leia did not have to spare at the moment. Without a warning, she deactivated the machine, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

His eyes only glowing from the feeble lights flashing outside the little corridor she had withdrawn into, his motionless silence was eerie and Leia felt slightly guilty for it. But really, she had no time and though perhaps 3PO was not the least attention seeking droid, he was capable of human speech, loyal and sufficiently determined when given the need.

He'd find a way, hopefully. Because Leia's cause depended on it. So long as she made it clear what all depended on him...3PO hated letting anyone down. (Or for responsibility to fall on his shoulders.) She eased loose a part of the golden covers on his back with nimble and experienced fingers a princess had no business having and forced a small disk into the cable mess that was his innards.

It'd limit his movements perhaps some, but not much and it'd be relatively safe.

“I need you to go and take an escape pod and find help,” she instructed the droid when she had activated him again. “I have entrusted the plans to you, Threepio -”

“- Princess Leia, you mustn't! As humbled as I am by your great faith-”

“- and_ everything depends on you_ bringing them to General Yoda. My father said he is to be living somewhere down on Tatooine.” She put a hand on his shoulder in a human gesture that she had never found inappropriate to use towards droids and 3PO's stream of protests and wailing died in an approximation of fear. “My life depends on it,” which was mostly a lie; Leia was dead anyway, “the Rebellion depends on it, entire star systems will suffer the consequences if you fail. I trust you to do this, Threepio.”

She had a feeling that if the golden droid had a mouth, he would be gaping like a fish. As it was, for once the protocol droid was actually struck silent. But not for long.

“Of course, my Lady. I shall do my best not to let you down and proof myself worthy of your great trust. However much I wish to express some doubts about the effectiveness of this matter of procedure, if you have decided, Princess, it must be the wisest choice. The words are lacking to express how humbled I am and as I speak over six million languages and dialects, it is a novel experience-”

“Go Threepio!” Leia snapped.

He jumped, then bowed hastily and retreated towards the escape pods, mumbling all the while how horrible an idea this was and how he very much doubted its success while simultaneously giving himself a preptalk.

A tickle of doubt ran down Leia's spine as she watched him go, but it was done and there was nothing to else that could be done anyway. She just wished maybe 3PO would not have to take this trial alone. But that too couldn't be helped and Leia readied her blaster.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Lord Vader,” Leia snapped, as she had prepared beforehand, “only you could be so bold! The Imperial Senate will not sit still with this.”

The tall shadow glanced over her, as if she were hardly worth his notice. “Organa. What a surprise.” He said it flatly, clearly not surprised at all. Then he dismissed her presence entirely, anger almost visibly boiling the air around him. Leia tried not to bristle. “Have you recovered the plans?”

“Not yet, milord,” an officer saluted stiffly. “We have searched a third of the ship, the last part taking longer as the rebels have barricaded themselves in and are still resisting, milord.”

The air got significantly thicker, ever so much an indicator of the dark lord's mood. Out of the shadows of his hood, yellow eyes gleamed in one of the most intimidating and frightening sights she had ever seen. “Where are the plans, Organa?”

Leia did not stiffen, showed no indication of her thoughts. Something more to thank her senatorial training for. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I am a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan.”

The hooded head tilted back coldly. “To Alderaan? Rest assured we will investigate rebel activity thoroughly on your home world, Senator. Your assistance is most appreciated,” the Sith bit out, unimpressed with her efforts. Leia had to strain her mental discipline not to react, aware that just one wrong thought could damn her and more...“Though even that will not aid you faced with the charges of high treason. Take her away.”

The quartet of Stormtroopers around her turned on their heels in perfect synchronisation, forcing Leia to keep pace in the middle of them or else be manhandled to do so. As she was led away, she caught the beginning of the next orders issued as she glanced over her shoulder at the dark cloaked form.

“I want all prisoners transferred to the _Devastator_, alive and ready for questioning. With the remaining resistance I will deal personally. Send a distress signal -”

They turned a corner and even the Sith's harsh, rough voice was no longer able to keep up with them. Leia had heard enough. It was Lord Vader, in person, and though she had encountered him on Coruscant several times, it had always been on her playing field: the political stage. As the most formidable opponent in the known galaxy, meeting the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces on his field was the nightmare of every liberate mind. 

In a way, Leia was lucky to get off as easily as she had. His indiscriminate loathing for politics and politicians and anything instigated by either of the two was as infamous as his prowess on the battlefield was legendary. Rare was the occasion that one of Vader's brief and all too rare appearances on Imperial Centre did not end with the death of one politician or two or more.

Not, Leia acknowledged, that it was much of a loss in most cases.

Being faced with the threat of expiring herself however, she didn't find it quite as productive anymore.

They left the _Tantive IV_, boarded the _Devastator_ through a hatch and were received by further escorts. An officer, a _short_ officer, at least a head and a half shorter than the troopers behind his shoulders awaited them. He looked young, no more than half a decade older than her at most. She wasn't familiar with the rank bars of the Empire, but she thought he was, given his age, astonishingly high ranked.

The troopers came to a stop, yanking at her as they saluted sharply. “Sir!”

He dismissed the four of the 501st, who promptly turned back around to serve their lord, and then ran his eyes over Leia. At first, she stiffened, but dared to relax when she noticed he was clinical in his assessment and seemed no more happy to see her than she was to see him (or any other imperial).

“Senator Organa,” he said, bowing slightly, shallowly, well-practiced. “What a surprise. Who would have ever expected your involvement with the rebellion?” Unlike Lord Vader, he managed to put some emotion into his statement, like the Supreme Commander he wasn't surprised at all. Grey eyes under a mob of brown hair were detached, but glimmering with frustration and irritation, even something like anger. Weirdly, she had the feeling that those emotions weren’t directed at her _precisely_. “I’m sorry to say, but your new accommodations are expecting you.”

Leia glared at him, but her well-practised intimidation tactics washed off his back like water. The officer turned and led the way down the sterile, gray corridors of the star destroyer. In no time at all, Leia was lost in the same looking hallways, much to her immense frustration. How was she supposed to escape when she had no idea in what direction she was supposed to flee?

“So,” the young officer said after a while as they were waiting in front of a turbolift. “Why did you join the rebellion?” He tried to sound detached but there was a shade of genuine curiosity in his body language, in the expressive glimmer of his eyes.

Leia stared straight ahead, chin high. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” The turbo lift arrived.

“Uh-huh,” the boy -somehow Leia had a difficult time thinking of him as anything else - said, an eyebrow raised sceptically and Leia had to blink at the sudden change in temperament and the lack of typical military stoicism. Leia was guided into to the lift, two grips hard on her arms. “Right. It isn't like Lord Vader caught you red handed. Or that you are famous for advocating democracy in the Senate.”

“I do no such thing,” Leia shot at him sharply.

The boy shrugged. “Maybe not so bluntly but the overall picture was there.” He pulled a face. “Politics are disgusting, but even I got that much out of the double speech. But to be honest, I don't see why anyone would want the Republic back. At least now things get done.”

Leia bristled. “If by ‘getting things done’ you mean by steeping on sentient beings and enslaving entire races for the wealth of the few!”

The officer stiffened, as did all the troopers accompanying them. Stiffened, and became resigned_._

She glared at every last one of them, the boy-officer’s gaze darting away from hers even as she internally tried to interpret the reaction. This was not the typical reaction of arrogant condescending or righteous superiority. Her stare narrowed, recalling the peculiar wording.

_‘At least.’_

Something was off here, in a subtle, thorough way that teased at her mind like a particularly persistent fly.

“That thing with the slavery is something that has to change,” the officer agreed, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “But the Republic isn’t the answer, I don’t think. After all it was because the Republic was too tied up into knots by its own system that the Empire became a necessary result. To get anything done.”

Adrenaline from the firefight had left her tired and a bit slow, but even in her state of shock and tension she was able to latch on to _that_. Those weren’t the words of a patriotic Imperial, of a loyal citizen or of a devoted soldier.

_This_, from someone of Vader’s _flagship_. From someone who _must_ be in the Dark Lord’s favour. 

Persistently, a thought nagged in her mind – a question that every politically aware being had asked themselves at least once.

Leia was not naïve enough to not consider this might be the beginnings of an interrogation (outside of the traditional setting to keep her off guard) or an attempt to trick her into confessing, but. But. She searched the boy’s – _young man’s_ – face, expression, eyes, posture for any sign of deceit. Listened to her whispering instincts…

He glanced at her, sudden and sharp.

Leia straightened, squaring her shoulders and gathering what was left of her dignity. “What is your name, officer?” She kept her voice cautious, but not unfriendly.

The turbolift was still carrying them deeper into the ship.

The officer’s eyes narrowed, the casual air disappearing under a cloak of edge-like competence. “Luke Antilles. Lieutenant Commander, Senator.”

A name that could not be led back to a homeworld and generally was one of the names everyone encountered at least a couple of times in life. She was right, though, that _was_ high ranking and not just for his age. On Lord Vader’s flagship it was unlikely he held the position due to family connections.

Lord Vader had agents, it was rumoured, not carrying any rank other the official military one but still _special _agents, all marked by their competence, loyalty, skill and the Emperor’s disfavour.

Lord Vader’s. Lord Vader’s elite. Lord Vader’s Hands.

(The Split.)

She wondered if this boy was one.

If Lord Vader tolerated such disrespect…, _selected_ them….

The answer to _that_ was meaningless in her position, because either way it had still landed and kept her here. But. 

“I agree with you, Commander Antilles,” Leia said, slowly. “The Old Republic was corrupt,” largely because of the Emperor, but no need to bring that up, “the Empire is far more productive in terms of military, security, economy and prosperity,” selectively, “however, from a purely political standpoint, it is concerning that the voice of the people is lacking in representation. Don’t misunderstand this as me harbouring rebel sympathies. His Excellency the Emperor is a man wise beyond measure,” never, ever, "but is it not our duty as his people and our people’s servants to provided different perspectives, even to speak things that do not want to be heard.”

The turbolift stopped. The doors hissed open, but no one stepped out. The short officer (her height, near eye-level) stared at her. “You presume to think that the Emperor would need _your_ advice? That he has not already thought of everything you might think of? That he not he has already considered and chosen the best course of action? That, if nothing else, is blasphemy, which admittedly is one of the milder charges against you at this point.” He cocked his head slightly. The words were hard and standard, but not sharp or insistent. He seemed to state them for no other reason than that he had to.

He pursed his lips. “Political double speech,” he said, like he tasted something sour, finally taking a step and starting to lead the way again. “Politicians. You give them an inch and they take a parsec. You give them something and they twist it would until something else entirely comes out. Also, they are never honest.”

“If being honest leads to execution is it such a wonder that no one dares?” Leia snapped coldly.

The Lieutenant-Commander’s lips curled in, Leia was startled to note, an abashed smile that made him seem barely in his teens. “Point made.”

Obviously, given that Leia was being led to the prelude of her execution.

The boy grinned at her over his shoulder, a warm expression utterly at odds with the sterile and cold ship. “Yet you dared to enough to earn yourself that sentence anyway. That's admirable and kind unexpected for a politician. Except of course that it still makes you a traitor.”

Leia said nothing because that was as close to a compliment as possible in their position and because anything else only hit the nail deeper into her coffin.

If only the plans…

Her escort halted in front of a heavy set of blaster doors. The officer-boy put in codes and gave a voice confirmation to the security and the doors slid open to reveal the detention level.

Leia’s stomach turned itself over, but she kept her back straight and head up as she was marched to the local officers, who exchanged quick words with her officer, before he turned and gave her a sad smile, half shrugging one shoulder. “You seem to be a good person. It’s a shame we couldn’t have met under different circumstances.”

She didn’t acknowledge him. (A traitorous voice did, and agreed.) She was in jail now, a prisoner and even sympathetic jailors could become her weakness. 

Him, and his four stormtroppers departed the way they came, leaving her in the care of infamous Imperial detention.

Leia felt suddenly cold and alone. But her heart was clad in durasteel and _she would not bend._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

Dark Lord of the Sith, Sith Apprentice, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces, former Jedi Knight, best pilot in the galaxy, Chosen One of the Force, Darth Vader was in a foul mood.

Generally speaking, he was always in a foul mood, but at the moment, it was the kind where his men shrunk back from speaking to him.

Where were those krethin' plans?

As if on cue, an intelligence officer dared to come up to him. “Milord, the plans are not on board this ship,” he reported, competently terrified. “N - No transmissions were made. A life-pod was ejected d - during the conflict. W- we l- let it go as no lifeforms were detected.”

No wonder the man feared for his life. Vader had killed people for smaller misjudgements._ But at least, _he grinned fiercely, terrifying the poor man even more, n_ow we are _getting _somewhere_. "The plans were in it. Sent a retrieval team. Allow no opposition.” The men saluted sharply and left. Even the one he had appointed second in command for this venture.

Tarkin was wrong. Ruling through fear bred obedience yes, but fear only brought people so far. People were adaptable, even to a state of constant fear – he would know. A dose of fear was productive yes, but an iron first was counterproductive.

A very simple method Vader had observed, one that seemed to go past the supposedly most brilliant minds of the age and the very man who played people like puppets, was that rather to frighten subjects into service, making them strive out of their own violation to present only the best results was far more efficient.

Then again, he conceded grimly, Sidious could likely not make a rancor come close to him voluntarily if the Sith Master was the first living thing the carnivore came across after starvation.

Not that Vader complained. Every shortcoming of the Sith Master was a weakness to be exploited and Vader did so gleefully. Consequently, Vader had taken such throughout control of the military that he couldn't _be_ removed and if he were, the Empire would fall apart.

Ah, the games between Master and Apprentice.

Vader promoted skill, not familial relations or money or minds so rotten they could hold a candle to His Majesty, and that curbed any attempt to get one of his loyal agents to develop into someone capable of replacing Vader in the bud. To Master and Apprentice such lethal games over influence in the military were more frequent points they butted heads over and one where their hands were equally tired. Vader hoped Sidious choked on the irony.

The military, despite men like Tarkin in positions of power, was doubtlessly under his hand the one organization with the least corruption in history of the Empire and probably a good deal of the Republic. Loyalty was rewarded. Competence was rewarded. Creative thinking was rewarded. Bureaucracy was stomped out. Bootlickers were thrown out the airlock.

The military was Vader's and everyone with a bit of brainpower knew it.

Vader had already fought for four years in the Clone Wars at the point when he had been put in charge. He doubted Sidious had ever seen a battlefield that wasn't already stone cold. What did _he_ know about military?

Military was only one of far too few fields where he had the advantage. One would think it was the most important one. It wasn't. Important was the _personal_ field.

Those few that knew of the lack of loyalty between Vader and his master often wondered how it was he had not yet turned on him.

Oh, Vader would.

It was expected of Sith Apprentices and he would have taken the mummy's head decades ago if not for the one thing in Sidiou's hands that gave him the leverage to keep the more powerful one of the two of them chained. Chained and damningly obedient, on a leash. (Though Vader had never been good at obedience – Sidious would loath the thought that he had anything in common with the late Jedi Council, but the headache the Chosen One caused was not just going to change.)

Yet despite the odds, he had no intention to wait till Sidious finally folded into the grave he looked like he had already crawled out of.

Entering a code into his commlink, he had to wait only few second before he was received, curious and enthusiastic. _“Yeah? What is it?”_

Vader smiled, glad that his hood and dark side shadow hid so very much of his expression. It was probably not very sithly. “You won't be thanking me when you hit planet. A team is sent to recover the plans from Tatooine. I want you to accompany them.”

There was a short silence, before Vader thought he could hear the exited smile on the other side despite Vader's warning. Typical. “_I shall do my very best,” _the voice demurred, mockingly, grin all but audible.

The connection cut and Vader's smile was swiped from his face, his expression once more becoming set in stone. Not that anyone would ever see.

The man that was once Anakin Skywalker had never been a demanding individual. His upbringing had made sure materialism held little to no attraction to him (beyond fast ships and shiny engines) and taught him the fragility of such things. He had always been invested in people instead and from them he didn't demand much either. If they loved him, then that was all he needed.

And, in his fatal flaw, he would never be able to let go of them without a fight (and not even then). Not even the Dark Side was able to burn it out of him, though it had have _tried_ and twisted. 

His son shared that trait. Shared a great many traits. Quite probably it was not a blessing.

Lifting his eyes, Vader let them fall on the pale blue apparition visible to no one but him. Obi-Wan stared at him in turn. Vader felt his features harden and his jaw tensed. His old master sighed, shaking his head in annoyed exasperation and disappeared.


	2. Luke; Obi-Wan

It was hot. Sweltering hot. And the sand was annoying.

Only three minutes planetside and Luke already wanted back to space. It had to be some new record. But he bit down on the impulse to complain more and straightened his spine, demanding attention. “This planet is Hutt space. That means slavers,” Luke told the Captain and Sergeants. “You know how we deal with those.” According to form, Luke should have called them 'illegal slavers' as loathe as he might be to admit it since there were those human trafficking rings that were approved by the authorities, but... well. “Turn over every sand grain if you have to. What we are looking for is a protocol droid of standard to high quality or one with similar specs.”

Personally Luke would have picked an astrodriod, but there had been none missing from the Tantive IV. “Lock down the space ports,” he began and continued to give orders that would include the entire planet and surrounding space. “Don't allow a single ship to leave or enter. Search everything throughout. Unless we have those plans, we won't leave this planet. The Captain has it from here.” Luke saluted the men, got an acknowledgement and 'yes, sir' in return and then stepped back inside the shuttle.

Imperial uniforms were uncomfortable and could hardly stand out more in an uncivilized mess like Mos Esley.

“What a miserable planet,” he muttered under his breath. He bet his father was laughing at him now.

_“I quite agree,”_ a cultured, familiar voice replied from beside him. _“Very few planets manage to compare to the low standards of Tatooine.”_

A quick smile fluttered over Luke's face and he glanced up at the translucent, half present form. “I forgot you were here before. Negotiating with Jabba the Hutt?”

Ben smiled faintly in remembrance. _“Even once was too often, believe me. And unfortunately it was more than once. Ask your father for his opinion on this place. As opposed as he is to the Death Star on principle, if there were one world Anakin wants gone from the galaxy, it would be this.”_

Luke pulled a somewhat dirty poncho over his head. It was a bit too big, but served well in hiding Luke's equipment from sight. Including the bulge his lightsaber made under Luke's clothes. He looked down at himself. “What do you think, Ben?”

“_You are still going to stand out.”_

Luke frowned. “What do I still need to do?” As far as Luke could see, there was nothing that marked him as anything but some lowly space traveller. His imperial identifications (all on fake identity) were left behind, no black was visible on his person.

_“It's the air, Luke,”_ Ben explained, eyes amused. _“Disguise as much was you want, unless you have much practice, you will be unable to conceal your high bred education. It's in your body language, will be in your words, your behaviour, your manner.”_

That had never before been an issue on Luke’s missions.

In response to Luke's falling face, Ben only smiled a bit wider, hiding it behind a hand as he folded his arms on his chest. “_Fortunately, Luke, Tatooine is a place where many beings stand out in one way or another. Unless you are careless, it shouldn't make for too much attention.”_

Luke pressed his lips together, glanced once more sceptically at himself, then lost his patience. “Come on, R2.” The droid hooted and eagerly rolled after him. There were things to do and no time to waste in front of a metaphysical talking mirror.

Stalking out of the imperial shuttle, Luke was once more assaulted by the heat of the climate and his irritation spiked further. What a wonderful beginning for this top priority mission.

Luke Antilles, as he was generally known as, was officially a very talented pilot four years older than he actually was, coming from a planet he had never actually set foot on, had graduated from the academy in an accelerated course, and was well on his way climbing the navy ranks. A bit less official, it was somewhat know that he held Lord Vader's favour (not suspicious only because of his competence and piloting skill) and was one of those who owed loyalty to Lord Vader in any way he could and served the man in any form needed, as such falling into the slots of one of Lord Vader's multifunctional 'agents'.

Unofficially, it was known he had no interest in further rank advancement and that his passion lay in flying and that as such his ambition must be to fly as Black Two.

It was true, in part. Luke loved flying. There was something absolute peerless in star fighter combat. Freedom. Thrill.

The whole truth however was far from so beautiful or simple.

No one was aware that Luke was Lord Vader's only child and that he had enlisted into the military and advanced the ranks for motives that were far from patriotic.

_._

_._

_._

_._

As a borrowed speeder raced over the dunes, Luke reminded himself of the bigger picture. The Death Star plans had been designed to fall into the hands of the Rebellion so that they may destroy those abominations, Tarkin and his toy if necessary.

It was after all, the Emperor's pet project, and had its origins even prior to the Clone Wars, if the documents were to be believed. Not even Vader was allowed to lay a hand on it.

Disgusting thing, that.

_Stupid Rebellion messed up and now we have to change plans. _

Luke didn't like death, but he understood it. He had graduated from the academy after all and war and tactics and enemy combatants were just things that one encountered in the military, and in a certain way on the battlefield killing was self-defence. For all sides.

The Death Star was something else entirely.

What it could do...it put something heavy and cold in the pit of Luke’s stomach.

Death in war and battle and even executions (though so long as the crimes weren't made up) were one thing. The indiscriminate slaughtering of the people of an entire planet plus the actual planet (“wasting the natural resources”, his father had added analytically) was something entirely different.

There was no honour in it, no justice and no reason and the people were all defenceless. The deaths it caused were a perversion of nature.

Darth Vader wasn't exactly a saint, but for all that it was so full of fascinating technology, even he had nothing but contempt for the Death Star. Particularly, as they both (plus Ben's conscience) and Sidious himself well knew, the technological terror didn't hold a candle to the Force. Building the thing was a waste of men, money, time, material and effort. Except for the fact that it was able to blow up a planet, it was absolutely useless.

But Vader had been unable to do anything about it, the Death Star a line that was on pain of torture not allowed to be set foot over. Sidious had made that clear from the very beginning more than a decade ago, so there was nothing Vader could do. Nothing at all. Not even lay a trail of breadcrumbs to let the Rebellion take care of it.

Yet despite all odds the Alliance had actually managed to do something meaningful for once and get the plans, only to mess up when Vader was on their trail. Seriously, they should have expected and braced for the impact Luke's father could create.

They hadn't, so they failed, and now the Death Star would be around for the foreseeable future. Was it such a wonder he was irritated with the Princess he admired since he first saw her on the holo?

Morons.

There were more horrible things than death and it was within the Emperor's wrinkled hands to inflict it on any one person in his clutches. Sith torture was supposedly the worst thing that could happen to anyone and death was not the necessary consequence. Victims could be held alive for years.

And that was what would happen unless Darth Vader followed Sidious' orders to the best of his abilities.

_“An opportunity will offer itself. I only hope you will not turn away from it in ill-advised caution.”_ Ben warned him, sitting in the speeder next to Luke and sharing the space with R2, which was no problem at all considering Ben had no body.

Luke stuck out his tongue in return. He would do what he would do and either the Will of the Force agreed with him, or it didn't – if not, then though luck.

Ben ignored him, instead looking tensely ahead, seemingly trying to clutch the speeder's sides for support. Luke grinned cheekily and pressed down on the accelerator some more. Supposedly, Uncle Ben was an extraordinary pilot as well for all that he complained (in a dignified and humble manner) flying was for droids. You wouldn't know it from the way he sunk in the seat, muttering and looking remarkably terrified for a man who could not be harmed by a crash.

_“There it is,_” Ben said suddenly, pointing with a translucent arm into the distance. Something glittered in the harsh light.

“I see it. I think.” Luke broke the speeder to the right and pushed the vehicle to the limit. They sped up some more. Ben groaned R2 hooted in delight and whirled his dome.

The speeder was stopped near the escape pod that had carried the thing that was the core of all the recent happenings. The shuttle with the troops had already landed here before when they had investigated and found the footprints of a droid, but that was official. Luke had ways of following things that definitely was not standard. Through a method that no one was supposed to find out. _Ever_.

Jumping out of the speeder, feeling the ground somewhat give under him, Luke glowered at the sand, then once more made his way over to the original footsteps. Withdrawing into himself, Luke studied them, and the pod, and followed the trail until it was swallowed by a much larger one. He followed that too, until it was lost in the sand and the heat seared his skin.

A sandcrawler. Jawas of Tatooine. Jawas sold what they found. Luke scrolled through the database on a pad. But the problem was that they were many, that the Jawas also traded among themselves and that the trails were difficult to follow as sand shifted easily and frequently. In fact, it was a miracle the protocol droid's steps were still present.

A way of searching for the droid was to go after every possible trail until it was found. It was time expensive and a job for many. It was what the stormtroopers were here for. If they found it, good. Then Luke would know. If they didn't, well... Force be willing, Luke would find it.

Luke was going to follow a more precise, if invisible way. Returning to the speeder, Luke started the engines, closed his eyes and withdrew deeper into himself, being very careful to be passive and to cause no tremors with his own presence.

It limited his uses of the Force greatly.

But not enough, in this case. Luke's hand's moved out of instinct and he raced off into the distance.

On what Ben called fittingly 'autopilot', Luke reached a Tatooine-typed homestead. A moisture farm, outside of Anchorhead. Luke shut down the engines, breathed out deeply and opened his eyes.

_It's a wonder anyone can live here. Wringing water from the air...I can't imagine something more dull._

A man was coming up the stairs of the underground building. Gruff and suspicious and..._that's a blaster._

But Luke sensed no harmful intent. Just wariness and caution and surprise. Luke left R2 in the speeder, Ben already stood off to the side, stretching his legs, however unneeded it might be.

“Good day, sir,” Luke shouted over a distance as it was clear that the man didn't plan on approaching further. Luke did it for him and held out a hand to shake. “My name is Luke. I'm terribly sorry about it, but I misplaced my droid and the Jawas picked it up. I'm searching for it now. Did you happen to buy a protocol-like droid within the last twelve hours?”

His hand wasn't shaken and Luke let it drop. The man, seeming sturdy, if weathered by the desert, eyed him, then replied with a short no.

Luke chewed his lip. It wasn't a lie. “Do you per chance know if the Jawas are due to come by for a visit soon?”

The dark eyes narrowed into a stern glare. “They are.”

“Would you mind if I waited here for them? I promise I won't be a bother.” Ben nodded approvingly on the side. It was him after all that Luke had learned most of his good manners from. The kind used when one was trying to _avoid_ making enemies.

“We don't like strangers here,” the farmer said. “Especially not those from off world. Stay if you have to, but don't come inside. If the Jawas don't come today, you will leave. Same if they do.”

Luke nodded. “Yes, sir.”

That seemed to be as far as the hospitality extended. Luke watched him go, curious eyes following. This one was definitely one of the more rude people he had ever encountered who did not have malicious thoughts causing that very rudeness.

_“That is normal people, Luke. People who live their own lives, hard working and are stratified with what they have. You'll find little greed in such individuals, hardly anything malicious. Their first priorities are their own families, their worries often turn around their crop and no further,” _Ben explained. _“They are exemplary and I find it to be an interesting thought that if everyone in the galaxy lived like these people do, then there would be no galactic government and no galactic war. It would be peaceful.”_

As promising as that did sound, Luke couldn't help a grimace. He did _not_ want to spend his life as a farmer. He could not see his father ever as anything less that the most important person on a planet and sithin' hell, he hardly thought everlasting peace was worth the boredom of farming.

Uncle Ben gave him a glance form the corner of his eye. “_And that is why you are no farmer. And that is why the galaxy is as it is. People have ambitions and desires.”_

“But that is no- it's not a bad thing, right? I mean it's natural.” Luke stared at the sand at his feet, thoughts rearranging themselves in his head. “It makes us who we are.”

Ben's expression softened. _“That's right. But it all has to be controlled, else the surrounding people suffer the damage. There has to be a limit. Lines that must not be crossed.”_

Now Luke shot him a sideways look. “Is that a hint at the little importance your life has compared to the galaxy and that Sidious should just be killed now, implications to your health not withstanding?”

_“Actually no,”_ Ben smiled, an odd mix between bitter and fond, _“though that is definitely true as well. I was thinking more along the lines of the example Sidious provides.”_

_Sidious._ Luke scrunched his nose in disgust. The bane of every Force-sensitive. Murder of a defenceless being was a horrible thing. Luke was of the opinion that if he had the chance, he wouldn't waste it. So long, of course, as killing Sidious could be done without Ben being used as a living shield.

_Which is the crux of the matter. _

Distantly Luke scowled at Ben, then went back to the speeder. He had to do some light meditating to hopefully gain some more insight.

He had to get those plans back.

Fearfully, Luke glanced at Ben's translucent form. When Uncle Ben had learned to distance his consciousness from his body, he had already been in captivity for two years, or so Luke had heard and it showed. His form was thin, weakened from lack of use, face sunken in, clothes were a version of hospital robes, something that Ben hated as much as he ever hated anything.

Ben sensed his scrutiny and smiled tiredly, sadly, kindly. _“Fear leads to the dark side, little one.”_

In a way, that made Luke angry as few things could. Why, oh why the hell could he not care for himself? Couldn't Ben understand that his life was worth fighting for?

Luke had lost all state of mind for a meditation and there was too much energy running in his body now to sit still.

“Come on, R2,” he said to his droid friend and babysitter. “Lets take a walk.”

Over eager, the lively droid ignited his jet boosters and flew out of the speeder himself. He tweedled on his three legs, impatient to do something. Luke felt a bit of his bad mood blow away and patted the gleaming dome affectionately. R2 complained about the sand always getting into his joints on this dust ball.

“I'll clean you up when we are back in space, Artoo,” Luke smiled. “You have been here before too?”

Artoo beeped an affirmative and added his opinion that Tatooine hadn't changed.

“Well, there isn't much here that can change.”

Ben cleared his throat over R2's reply. _“I think I'm going to see if your father has gotten himself into trouble -again -, Luke.”_ Which was Ben-speech for saying that he really had no interest in listening to his charge make conversation with a mechanical construction as if it were a living being or admiring a scenery had had probably already seen one too often.

Luke stared where he had disappeared for a moment, not for the first time and not for the last time wondering what it was like, not knowing where one's body was and one's mind tied to a fallen apprentice and later to that apprentice's son, and for almost two decades to be absolutely incapable of appearing anywhere but the immediate surroundings of either of the two.

_Like a prison. Like I feel. Chains wrapped tight and invisible and in varying states of voluntary._

There was a rebellion going on, one that was quite different from the Alliance to Restore the Republic and one that had only two members (and several supporters) and two goals. One enabled the second.

Luke had been raised by his father, when he had managed to be present, R2 and Ben in the meantime at Bast Castle on Vijun since he had been one or two years old. Vijun might not be the greatest of the planets, it was one of Sith retreats in the galaxy and the Dark Side was stitched into the Force there, but Luke had grown up happily, protected and unknown.

Luke's father and Obi-Wan, despite their different believes had even agreed on what to teach him, and Luke was exceedingly glad he did not have to pretend his emptions did not exist, and did not have the urge to choke someone every time he lost his temper. (Though it did happen; some people were just so irritating, it made Luke's fingers twitch.)

Luke drew on Ashla, but his education could not be called Jedi by any means, his avoidance of the dark side was based only in the facts that he disliked suffering and that it carried with it the unnecessary risk of getting controlled by it. (Even Luke's father had suffered that fate temporarily. No way was he allowed to risk all that he loved for that temperamental bit of fast power.)

Self-sacrifice was_ not_ encouraged. His father had made it very clear that Luke was to, first of all, have a very good estimation of his own worth, second of all, a good idea of his worth to others, and that he was _never _to take an example of Ben's self-preservation instinct. Which, quite obviously, was non-existent. Which was frustrating as hell.

Jedi were admirable and all. Like heroes in bed time stories. Luke just didn't want to become one. Heroes had the unfortunate tendency to die or worse. 

He was only seventeen and had more than enough involvement with galactic peace, galactic politics and grand scale happenings to worry about for a lifetime. Let others do that. Luke was sick and tired of it. Unfortunately the Emperor's head had to be separated from the body first before any kind of vacation was possible.

And to not lose everything before that time came, he first had to find those stupid Death Star plans.

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Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master without body, High Council member without Order, was feeling that curious mixture of fondness, exasperation, resignation and infuriating, helpless annoyance. Something that only his own master had managed to create in him, before Skywalker I and II.

Resisting the urge to massage his temple, Obi-Wan switched mental focus from Luke to Anakin, pulling himself along on the bond connecting their minds.

The tatooine desert around him faded in favour of the Imperial, tasteless design of gray and angles. He arrived to the sobering sight of watching his former apprentice strangle a man.

Hooded, yellow eyes darted briefly to him, then refocused on his victim. Moments later, a body lumped to the floor, as dead as can be. “Dispose of that,” the most powerful Force-sensitive the galaxy had ever seen ordered a couple of stormtroopers in his harsh tone.

Ah, Vader was in charge. Lovely.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and selectively remained silent. Arguing when Anakin was being a Sith was worse than arguing with Anakin in the midst of puberty.

Settling for giving the black clad form a Look of the Highly Disapproving, the helpless Jedi Master once again did his best not to think how sweet little Ani had somehow grown up into a man capable of murdering in cold blood. (_My fault? Oh, where did I go wrong? What can I still do? Master, I failed you.)_

And failed.

A great deal, Obi-Wan knew could be blamed on Sidious. The man had been a friend and a much respected mentor to Anakin since he was a child. The seeds of sith training had probably been planted right under Obi-Wan's nose. But _that_ was _his_ oversight. Somehow, somewhere, Obi-Wan should have noticed. Anakin was such a caring and selfless soul. Obi-Wan should have noticed that it didn't make sense that he struggled so much with Jedi training.

However, Obi-Wan had _not_ noticed. So in the end, it was all his fault. That Anakin fell, that Anakin destroyed the Order. And now even more that he served the Emperor that he continued to be steeped in the Dark Side when he had more than enough indifference to it to shake it off. (_Once start down the Dark Path, forever will it dominate your destiny. Yoda, you were wrong. So very wrong. Or is Anakin just that special?)_

Every crime Anakin committed fell on Obi-Wan's shoulders. Years ago, he had given up keeping track. If he were ever to come into a position to face just courts, he might as well apply for death penalty.

“Stop that, Master. I can hear you wallow in guilt from here.” Now that he was alone in his personal quarters, the pitch black shadowing hood removed, tendrils of darkness obscuring the face of Darth Vader from the galaxy lifted from his face and stern faced, blue eyed Anakin glared at him. “All my decisions. Not your fault. How often do I have to tell you?”

Obi-Wan sighed. _“May I ask what crime that unfortunate man committed?”_

Anakin's stare narrowed, but reply he did. “He lied to me,” he said shortly, crossing his arms. “He thought by pretending attentiveness and zeal he could set up a situation to get the Princess alone – for him and his squad.”

Quite unable to help it, Obi-Wan felt a chill run down his spine.

Anakin tilted his head back, in a way that could not be interpreted as anything other than challenge. “I thought you would approve.”

Obi-Wan shot his former student a heated glare from behind half lowered lids in his patented Disapproving Jedi Master Stare. “_I never approve of murder, Anakin. I should assume after thirty years of acquaintance that not insignificant fact would have reached you.”_

Anakin shrugged casually, sitting down at his desk instead of loomingly standing in front of it. “I don't see what the difference is. I could have reported them and then they'd be sent to me for trial and judgement, for what they attempted to do, Death Penalty is the sentence – which, might I remind you, I have full authority to execute.”

The Jedi Master stared at the fallen Jedi for a moment longer, then sighed, rubbing his temples. He didn't know why he even still bothered. “Authority given to you by a _Sith_.”

Which landed them at an often visited point of argument. Anakin liked to argue that authority was authority, and that when you got down to it, there was no difference between the one given by Sidious and the Senate mandates for the Jedi. If what was just and good was determined by the authority in power, then how could one ever truly do the _right_ thing if it was determined by the ruler. Anakin's answer was one must listen not to laws and rules and guidelines, but by compassion and instinct. That line of argument was such an _Anakin_ thing to say, Obi-Wan had looked at his former apprentice with new eyes when the words had first been uttered. It had explained so much about Anakin's civil and not civil disobedience even early during his Jedi apprenticeship that Obi-Wan had felt as blind a fool as he hadn't since Sidious' revelation. Of course Anakin, as a former slave, would see mercy and benevolence dependant on the most powerful player on the field and would not believe in them for that very same reason unless proven otherwise. Neither his slave masters, nor the Jedi Order, and most definitely not Sidious had ever proven him in that belief.

And_ that_, Obi-Wan had felt in that endless bottom-dropping moment more than a decade ago now, had been the Order's (and to a lesser degree the Republic's) greatest _failure_. They had not convinced the one Chosen to determine all their fates that they were good and worth protecting.

It had made him shudder icily that that failing had started the moment Anakin had stood before the Council for the first time as a young child.

Obi-Wan had certainly seen the world with new eyes after _that _conversation. (And had wished they had spoken, or perhaps _been able to speak,_ about such things before Order 66.)

_“I assume the men had not been interested in freeing the Princess?”_ With a superfluous question, he cut past the back-and-forth argument that hang in the air as mere shadows of the past. _“Need I remind you again that Bail is a good man?”_

“A good man perhaps, but incompetent,” Anakin dismissed. “He had his chance and failed. Now he and his daughter will be judged according to the laws they actually had, you know, sworn an oath to.”

_“I thought you argued not caring for the law when it stood between the right thing and action?”_ Obi-Wan stroked his beard.

Anakin glowered.

Mercifully, Obi-wan changed the subject and hoped nudging Anakin on would be enough for...something. _“What do you plan to do about the Death Star now?”_

The plans falling into the Rebellion's hands had been an unexpected stroke of luck, and, being for once something Anakin was actually innocent of, he didn't have to outsmart himself all the time. Anakin had used the distraction of course to set several of his plots into action outside of Palpatine's attention, however they didn't actually do anything for the Death Star crisis.

Anakin switched to silent conversation. Not that there were any bugs (triple checked every time Anakin left his quarters even just for a minute), but it still paid to be cautious. “_Luke will have to recover the plans, of course. They will need to be handed over, no tricks.” _He paused briefly before smiling wickedly._ “Of course it is to be expected that the document will have been viewed once or twice in Rebel custody and we certainly must check if we happen to the cover the right disk, and most definitely it can't be avoided that one or two officers look it over. If they happen to remember something...”_

Ah.

Well. Wasn't that _interesting? “The only one who can memorize the layout for an entire battle station the size of the moon at one glance is Luke.” _ Obi-Wan observed. With the help of a Force technique it was well possible to boost memorization beyond normal limits; it was a variation of Suggestion and as such didn't hold indefinitely, but if Luke had a pad on hand, which he always did and could immediately note it all down… “_He will be mentioned in a report directly answering to Sidious,”_ Obi-Wan pointed out.

Anakin pulled an unhappy grimace. Clearly, the thought had occurred to him. “_No, he won't._ _I have stand-ins for that”_ \- people he would implant the memory into and throw to the metaphorical wolves “-_but you are right that he is still too far involved. I don't like it.”_

A lecture on attachment that Anakin likely knew by heart on this point came to mind, but that was not what was needed in this case. With Anakin, encouragement worked better than reprimand. “_He is your son. I don't doubt he is well capable of manoeuvring out of any trouble he might find.”_

Anakin half smirked, half smiled, all but oozing pride.

In moments like this, Obi-Wan wondered how it could _possibly_ be that this man was (depending on who was asked) the second or most feared man in the galaxy. He sighed, depressed.

“...Will you go check on Luke?”

“Better than watch you poring over data.”

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Obi-Wan found Luke standing in what looked to be a grave, his face blank with shock when he lifted his head to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. What truly made his none-existent stomach drop however was the following question.

“My grandmother's name. It was Shimi Skywalker, wasn't it?”


	3. Luke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: grey use of Force-suggestions. I.e. memory manipulation.
> 
> I can't believe I mixed up the chapters. I'm forever embarrassed. So sorry for the misunderstandings...:'(

_Shimi Skywalker. Shimi Skywalker. Shimi. Skywalker. Skywalker. Shimi. Shimi _Skywalker.

The name bounced around Luke's head like a good dozen blaster bolts against magnetically sealed walls. So fast, it blurred before his eyes and he couldn't make sense of it. While the rest of his mind shut down, a list of facts was highlighted in his head.

_Shimi Skywalker. Name of his grandmother. Was a slave. Was killed a free woman. Tatooine. Hutt territory. Slavers. Slavery. Ben's implied 'your father hates Tatooine'._

Ben looked shocked as his eyes travelled down to the grave of Shimi Skywalker Lars, but not half as shocked at Luke felt. “Yes,” he said, breathing out hard. “Yes.”

Like a moth to the flame, like a stone obeying gravity, Luke's eyes fell back to the name engraved in the simple, weathered rock. Shimi Skywalker Lars. There were dates scratched into it as well, crudely, but deeply. There was no date of birth, only an estimate.

Luke stared at it in blank shock. He'd come here, with the future in mind, heart in the delicate balance of what was and what so easily _could be_. What he found was what had been.

_This is the hand of the Force._

It only remained to find out in what direction it was pointing.

This was so messed up.

R2 bumped into his legs with some force, beeping sympathetically. Automatically, a hand went down to pat his friend. The from the suns searing hot dome burned his hand, and Luke drew away with a hiss.

“Shavit, I think I hate Tatooine,” he cursed under his breath. The pain was grounding as was the heat and thirst he was all too suddenly hyper aware of.

In the wide galaxy, Luke had stumbled upon the grave of his grandmother by sheer accident. _The kind of coincidences that don't exist. The Force led me here. But grandmother is dead. Why am I here?_

Kneeling down, he blew the sand off the stone, trailed a finger along the name and brushed as many of the fine grains as possible out of the carvings.

_What is this supposed to tell me?_

_“Luke,_” Ben muttered, a warning and the currently brown haired young man turned around.

A woman was approaching them, already pretty close and Luke hadn't noticed her till now. It said something about his state of mind and Luke exhaled, releasing his emotions to the Force as well as he could. Despite the heat burning down on him, he suddenly felt cold.

The woman half way from the homestead, waved and Luke, with one last glance, left the graves behind.

“I'm sorry about my husband, dear,” she smiled at him, warmly. “It is dangerous times, but you are just a child and it isn't healthy for offworlders to stay long in the sun. Please come inside.”

“Er, thank you, ma'am,” Luke managed. His thoughts were fixed on wondering how exactly he was related to her. His smile probably fell very short of convincing. Ben put a ghostly but reassuring hand on his shoulder. Until now, Luke had never thought he might be short on courage. This was a different kind of courage.

_“Well,”_ whispered Obi-Wan in his ear, _“I have always said you are spoiled. This is social education.” _He almost sounded like he was gloating, if a Jedi Master could gloat. 

Resisting the urge to glare at Ben, he did a quick sorting out with his feelings, bringing them into constructive order and hurried a few steps to catch up with the woman. Unfortunately, despite the million and one questions running through Luke's head, he found himself frustratingly tongue tied.

How was one supposed to ask about possible relation?_ Oh, kreth, to hell with it!_

“Um, excuse me, ma'am?” Luke tried awkwardly. “That grave...”

The woman's weathered face sobered. “It is the family graveyard. My husbands family has been living in this homestead for generations.”

Right. That wasn't actually what Luke was asking and his attempts at subtlety didn't last any further. “That woman, Shimi Skywalker. Can you tell me about her?”

That earned him a hidden sharp look. “Why do you want to know?” Caution, wariness, suspicion. Fear.

Luke bit his lip, then said it anyway. It was a gamble, but a necessary one and Obi-Wan had said farmers didn't worry much beyond their own backyards, after all. “I think she was my grandmother.”

The woman stopped. Her eyes suddenly roamed over Luke's appearance with a desperate searching. Luke sensed a mental wall raising, full of alarm and fear. _She doesn't believe me._ “What did you say your name was?”

“Luke Antilles,” Luke admitted. “But that is a fake identity. After all, I can't run around in the galaxy with the name Skywalker.” He twirled a strand of brown hair between his fingers. “My hair is dried, too. My eyes are a bit changed in color. I'm the splitting image of my father and that's too dangerous.” It was a dangerous, very very dangerous thing to say out loud, but it garnered the desired results before Luke had to erase the memory.

The wall of rejection stopped raising and she examined him again, closer. Taking his chin in her hand, she turned his head a bit to the sides. The tight knot in her mind eased, just the smallest bit. “What did you say you looked like originally?”

“Blond hair, blue eyes.”

Her dark eyes widened. “Yes,” she breathed. “Luke Skywalker.” Keeping as close a mental look at mind as he did, Luke could have hardly missed the complete overhaul of her mental state. Then his concentration broke when she hugged him. “Oh my dear boy.”

Luke stiffened tight and then made a conscious effort to relax and awkwardly patted an arm of a woman whose name he didn't even know, looking over her shoulder at Ben for help, but Ben had his face sent into contemplation, stroking his beard and R2 was hooting somewhere around their feet, something about recognition and that he _had_ thought he had the data of this homestead.

It was just plain awkward. The only person Luke ever got hugs from was his father and that had been rare even as a kid. 

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“Sit down here, Luke, please. Make yourself at home,” Mrs Beru Lars said, all warm and nervous and exited energy. “OWEN!”

Luke was trying to take this all in stride. Apparently the Lars' knew him or of him or something and at least Mrs Lars was exited about it. Luke shifted in his seat.

The homestead was surprisingly big underground and the temperature was much cooler. If Luke hadn't had enhanced health thanks to the Force, he'd have been knocked out by the sudden change in climate. As it was, he almost did. Now, huddled in at a small desk he was also acutely aware of his skin burning and the reddish tint it was very steadily gaining.

Sunburn. Just great.

“Here, have some,” Mrs Lars said, putting some food and a glass of blue liquid in front of him. “OWEN,” she shouted again. “Come quick!”

Trying not to be obvious about it, Luke first poked at the food with a finger and then, after looking around for some cutlery and finding none, he shifted in his seat again, not knowing what to do.

Mrs Lars sat down opposite of him, smiling happily and expectantly. Awkward!

_Ben, help!_

Uncle Ben seemed to be holding in laughter, hiding a grin behind his hand as he pretended to stroke his beard thoughtfully. _“I suggest you eat and like it, no matter what the taste. They may not actually have cutlery here. Be also warned that local cuisine, even delicates can be thoroughly shocking to off world taste buds.”_

_Kreth._ Luke picked up a leaf and smiled hesitantly at the woman sitting opposite from him. Seeing no indication of gross misjudgement, Luke proceeded to bite into it.

It tasted pretty much like nothing.

Ben grinned. _“I hope you see this as significant motivation to further your social studies. It is always much better if one can say one wasn't shot at because of such a simple effort as diplomacy.”_

Fortunately for Ben, Luke was hungry and under the happy observation didn't exactly have a second (as he normally had) to throw a glare in his Uncle's direction.

Taking a swallow of the blue liquid (only after having checked it over for poison) made Luke immediately regretted having let his guard down and it was only thanks to his excellent reflexes that he didn't spit it into his host's face, slapping a hand over his mouth.

His face twisted into a mask of utter disgust. It was one of his hardest battles, but Luke forced the liquid down. The humiliation of loosing a fight against his food was one he could live without, thanks. “What is that?” He chocked out.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Mrs Lars hushed. “I forgot - I mean, blue milk is a replacement for water. We are all used to the taste, so I didn't think about it. Do you want me to bring you some water?”

Luke nodded, quickly biting down on a leaf again, hoping to delete the taste in his mouth. How utterly disgusting!

It took her only a few moments to return with another glass, this one thankfully filled with a clear mass. After first taking a careful sip confirming the taste, he took a larger swallow.

“So tell me, Luke,” Mrs Lars said, “what brings you here?”

Now this was more comfortable territory. “I'm looking for a droid,” he told her truthfully. “It was lost somewhere further out in the desert and since Jawas pick them up...” He shrugged, leaving the rest open.

Mrs Lars frowned. “You aren't living on Tatooine, are you?”

“No,” thank the Force, “I'm only on planet for a short stop.”

“I see.” Her brows furrowed further, disapproving. “Are you alone? Is your father with you?”

Luke put his next leaf down. “What do you know about my father? How come you know about me, anyway? I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think I ever heard of you before, Mrs Lars.”

Disappointment, empty hope, sadness akin to grief, healed over. “I'm not surprised,” she replied, looking at her hands folded on the table. “I met your father only twice. The first time was when Shimi died. The second time,” she sighed. “It must be about fifteen years about now, when your father came. The suns were only just rising and there had been a heavy storm the night before and he didn't look that good. I remember there was a burn on his shoulder, that his robes were singed and he looked so tired, he might as well have been sleepwalking. He came and took you with him. We weren't happy to see you go, but it was his right, so...” Another sigh and then a smile that was supposed to be mood changing and lighter, but behind which Luke sensed the heaviness. “Please, call me Aunt Beru. Shimi was like a mother to me.”

Any appetite Luke had was gone by now, his hand somewhat frozen between plate and mouth, not knowing what to feel. _I was here! I lived here. _The instinctive reaction was horror. Luke's life might not be perfect but he wouldn't give his family up for anything, for any other kind of life. Would never chose to, would never let himself be forced. Kreth, wasn't that exactly why Luke was in the situation he was.

Because even if he could run, he would never at the cost of someone important to him.

But at the same time, he could see, clearly, the kind of life he could have had here. It would have been peaceful, he would have been loved. It would have been hard work from a different kind than Luke was used to and he would have been ignorant of the world and the dangers and his father and Ben and the conflict that lay beyond this planet's gravity field. He wouldn't have double or triple identities, conspiracies and steady risk of discovery and threat of becoming leverage standing to his neck.

And if he would have left without knowing anything, he could have been the wild card needed to break the status quo.

He swallowed, drily and uneasily. His mouth opened out of its own violation, but before a word left his lips, a man came into the living area with heavy steps.

Mrs Lars shot to her feet. “Owen dear!” She gave him an enthusiastic hug, Luke felt awkward again. “Look, it's Luke! Luke Skywalker!”

The man did a double take and his eyes flashed to Luke, promptly narrowing in a glare. Pulling his wife off him, he took have a step in front of her and if he still had a blaster on his person Luke had little doubt it would be pointed at him. “He told you that?”

But of course the wife knew her husband. “Oh, stop it, Owen. I didn't believe it at first either, but if you take a look at him past the changed hair and eyes, you can see it. There is some of Shimi in him.”

Suspicion not lessening overly much, but at least aggression fading some, he took a look at Luke. “I don't see it.” He proclaimed after little time at all. “And your name isn't Skywalker.”

Luke cleared his throat. “That name is a bit eye-catching. And to those who knew my father, so is my appearance. It's less troublesome changing both.”

A wave of grim agreement, though not necessarily belief. “Any proof that you say who ya are?” He demanded gruffly and Luke had no doubt that if he couldn't, it would end bad.

“I told you, you can see it, Owen,” Mrs Lars said, shooting Luke an apologetic look. “Owen, that's our nephew! You're scaring him!”

_Not really, actually. Though I'm definitely uncomfortable. Does that count? But even that is more with your trust and openness and not his hostility._

“Um,” Luke offered. “I probably can prove it, but that depends on what you know about my father.”

One pair of eyes was startled, the other narrowed more.

“You don't have to, Luke.” Mrs Lars assured him quickly. “Right Owen? He is Shimi's grandson and we wouldn't want to hurt him.”

Difference in opinion that was not going to be resolved quickly, Luke suspected. “But I don't mind, Mrs Lars. It is the least I can do and only natural. These are dangerous times after all.” He smiled, though inwardly he was slowly starting to wonder if it was a mistake giving his identity away. _Because the Emperor must never know I exist. But then again, these people already knew of me. Worse, knew that father knew -_had raised-_ me. Can't make it much worse._

But to Luke's surprise it was Mr Lars who shot the notion down. “Don't bother,” he grumbled. “Anyone knowing to claim being Luke Skywalker to us would know enough to fake some proof. And if you are who you say you are any kind of proof... we don't want wizardry in this house!”

Wizardry was what Force-skills were called in the wake of the Empire. The wide masses had no idea an all compassing entity existed and tied one person to the next, no matter how hated. Also, it was forbidden and hunted on the pain of death. Didn't stop Luke from being any less surprised, though.

Mr Lars scoffed. “Now what do you want here, other than eating our food and drinking our hard worked for water?”

Luke stood. “I came what I said I came for, Sir.” His tone was soft. “Waiting for a sandcrawler to look for a droid. Afterwards I plan to leave as I too have matters that need my attention. I apologize on imposing on your hospitality, sir. Do you wish to be compensated for the water and the food?”

Mrs Lars was dismayed, almost pained. She genuinely did care for Luke, for the legacy he represented and she would have loved raising him, he could see. Her husband was of a different stamp, the kind where care grew over time and caution and local worries overshadowed sympathy. He was not a bad man. A farmer and in this climate, he had to be though.

Grunting, Mr Lars half turned away from him. “We don't want your money.” At the door he stopped and said over his shoulder. “If you want to repay us, we have a speeder and a droid needing maintenance in the garage.”

“Owen!” His wife reproached, but her complains were stuck silent by a look he threw her. She sighed when Mr Lars was gone. “I'm so sorry, Luke,” she said. “Don't take it personally. It is just that...”

“It is I who should be sorry, Mrs Lars. I took your hospitality all but for granted and the worth of water on this planet didn't occur to me. I should have been more thoughtful.” Luke's appetite was still gone, even when he turned back to look at the food and the half filled glass of water. His conscience made him want to squirm, but Luke was still so tense, that his training took over into deliberate movements.

The half finished meal he put on what seemed to be a kitchen counter under the watchful eyes of the matriarch. “Would you mind showing me the garage, ma'am? I do like mechanics and I see no reason not to repay your kindness in the time that would otherwise go to waste while I'm waiting for the Jawas.”

Mrs Lars took his hand into both of hers. “You are a nice boy, Luke.”

Luke couldn't meet her eyes. When Luke was kind, it was only because right now he could afford it. Being kind was nice, being nice was great, but Luke-

The dark side had little hold on him, its whispers of power and freedom falling on deaf ears and as such coldness didn't come easily to him, but to protect what he cared for, Luke was willing to go far, to let the consequences be heavy.

Right now for example, he was doing his best to collect the plans that were the hope of entire star systems and to hand them back into hands that would see that no harm came to the monstrous battle station. With a twenty-four hours recharge circle for the super laser, within one standard week, five planets could be destroyed.

Tarkin was in charge of it. The Tarkin doctrine suggested a well visible example to implement fear. Well visible were for example the core worlds, most of which were highly populated. And Luke was willing to pay that price, to let _others _pay that price for his selfishness, even when it almost made him physically sick with guilt.

Princess Leia seemed like a good person, in desperate need of help, and Luke turned his eyes away.

That was not kindness.

How many people could die for that? As many as there were sand grains on this planet?

Luke knew the consequences and yet...

That was not kindness.

Was not even a good person.

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“You really are Anakin's boy.”

Luke tilted his weight back and his feet just barley managed to touch the ground as the most of his upper body lifted out of the innards of the speeder he was fixing. With the back of his hand, he swiped some sweat from his forehead. Hair was plastered to his skin.

The garage was mostly well lit, but in its tatooine-sunlit entrance stood Mr Lars, a shadow against the bright sand behind him.

“What do you mean, Sir?”

Mr Lars took a look at the R2 unit Luke had already fixed, inspecting it critically and then putting a hand on it in approval. “I'm saying that I have only ever seen your father do such fast and good work. Usually just to fix this one here, a good mechanic needs a day.” He seemed distinctly less confrontational, less rejecting. “One of the few things I remember about Anakin is that he fixed every malfunctioning mechanism we had, quite a lot, and he did it in the couple days he was here for the first time.” The look he gave Luke was sharp, but not unfriendly. “Even if you had come here prepared with information, doing something like this is not something just anyone can do. Unlike even that wizardry.”

Luke's feet completely thumped to the floor. Distractedly, he handed his tools to R2 and took the rag to clean some of the oil from his hands, but his eyes never left the farmer. “It was a test.”

Mr Lars shrugged. “I wouldn't call it that. Even if you were who you claimed to be, there was a chance you hadn't inherited his talent.”

But Luke shook his head. “It was a test.” He fixed the man with a look. Evidently, he had misjudged him. “Asking me to prove who I am, even physical resemblance, it is all things that something that is natural to be questioned. When I'm questioned, I know I'm questioned. My guard is up. You knew that, so instead you judged by behaviour.” Taking the hydrospanner R2, who was well experienced with aiding tinkering Skywalkers, held out for him and the nut, Luke turned back to the speeder. “I am glad I passed your assessment.”

A breath blown out heavily drew Luke's attention back to Mr Lars before he could dive into wires and bolts again. “I don't want you to misunderstand, boy. You are Shimi's grandson. You are welcome here any time.”

The persistently nagging guilt was back, especially with the direction his thoughts have been taking him. Luke pressed his lips together. “I understand I would have grown up here if father hadn't come?”

Mr Lars' back was turned to Luke as he was looking for something in the shelves decorating the walls, but there was sudden tension back in his body. Something like grief, except that Luke wasn't dead. “We had you for two years.”

“I see.” There was a pause, somewhat uncomfortable but not as awkward as Luke had felt down in the homestead. “It is sfe for you to think that you have dodged a blaster with that, sir. Supposedly, I was something of a hellion, more trouble than an entire army of kids my age. And, no offence, but so far I have not uncovered any hidden love for Tatooine.”

A grunt. “Few do, but for those of us who have grown up here, the life is everything.”

With sheer effort, Luke kept a grimace of revulsion from his face. Was he saying that the same would have happened to Luke if he had grown up here? The imagery was nothing short of a nightmare. “I have observed that farmers are living peaceful and steady lives. It is something to be admired.” Diplomacy ruled. Sidestepping the maybe-implied-maybe-not issue.

Another grunt and the man turned with a box under his harm. “That kind of language you would have never learned here. All stiff and proper and delicate.”

Against his will, Luke cracked a grin. “Well, sir. I have been accused of being spoiled before, but for my language to fit the part, I had to work. My uncle,” deliberately not a glance in the corner where Ben was sitting and watching, “always says that it is easier to get into trouble by swearing at people than it is by being polite to people who swear at me. And since I get in trouble enough on my own, it stood to reason to avoid it when I could.”

“Your uncle?”

“Ah,” Luke said, purposefully meeting the man's eyes. “My mother's brother.” Which was a lie as his mother had only a sister, but to seed confusion to anyone who might ever come asking, it was perfect.

Not once in his life had Luke met his cousins. He had seen one of them on the holonet as a Senator, but that was about it. It was just too dangerous.

Luke's head shot around, his eyes fixed against a wall, unseeing and far away. If Mr Lars said anything, Luke didn't hear it. “The Jawas are coming,” he said.

And perhaps he shouldn't. Because it was wizardry. And just a bit, there was wariness of the kind that could quickly turn into fear.

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_“What are you thinking about, Luke?”_ Ben asked sternly, with a healthy does of suspicion. “_Your thought are very quiet.”_

_'Something not very ethical. You won't approve.' _Luke returned distractedly as the large sandcrawler came up to the homestead. _I have had time to think and...after all, I hate the idea of the Death Star. If at all possible, I want to do something about it. _R2 swung back and forth on this three legs, waiting impatiently. _The Force led me to this place, to the grave of grandmother and to see the life I could have lived. Would have lived. And now, if the plans are on this crawler, then I see what would have happened extend in front of me.'_

Mr Lars was waiting with him, so Luke couldn't speak audibly. The homestead needed a new translator droid, because even Luke had not been able to fix the one they had. Protocol droids were often times multilingual. It was another coincidence that Luke noticed and didn't know what to make of. But it build powerfully into the life he could see.

_'I would have hated it here, Ben. Stuck on this planet, on a little farm. Mr Lars seems strict. I wouldn't have gotten many liberties. If I had been living here, then somehow, somewhere gotten my hands on death star plans -and I would have realized what that could do- don't you think I would have done everything in my power to get it to the Rebellion? It would have been my chance off this rock, too.'_

Ben folded his hands to the sleeves of his hospital robe. _Father said he used to hide them in Jedi robes in one of his favourite habits. “I can see where you are coming from and I do agree with your assessment of your character. Your impatience would have gotten the better of you. What is your point?”_

_I don't know why the Force brought me here, but this life that I would have had gives me an idea. I would have been Luke Skywalker here, without any attachments, without any connection to Father or any knowledge of you. The Emperor would know that. Any trouble that I cause would not be laid at Father's feet._

Slowly, Ben turned his head to stare at Luke. There was a quite potent amount of disbelief on his face. _“You are not,” _he said, as if he didn't know better, as if Luke were clearly joking.

_Haven't decided yet, _Luke conceded as the droids were rolled out for display. _But the more I think about it, the less of an alternative I see. The more I see this as a chance we could not replicate if we tried. _

A golden protocol droid was marched out, not the first and not the last, but at Luke's feet, R2 began to wobble excitedly. Both Luke and Ben stared at him. “What is it, Artoo?”

Instead of replying, R2 abandoned his post and crossed the distance to roll into the taller droid's legs. Luke stared, then hurried after, quickly apologizing to the sand people were hushing angrily.

The golden protocol droid complained. “How very rude! You claim that - No, you must be mistaken. I have never before seen you in my life and do pardon me if I say that a unit as unrefined as you, I would remember. Why, never once- Don't you call me a mindless philosopher! In my -”

Luke blocked him out, instead turning his attention to R2, who was all of a sudden babbling very interesting things. The droid's name, the last time he had seen him at the apartment of Luke's mother on Coruscant and other things. What stood out clearly however was that the droid had no business being on Tatooine.

An unnatural stillness descended upon Luke as he asked the question that would decide the course of action from here. Make or break the status quo. Make or break the galaxy. “Have you encountered Princess Leia Organa from Alderaan, See-Threepio?”

3PO made a human like gesture of shock. “My, how did you know, sir? Are you quite possibly familiar with her? To be truthful, sir, I could need aid on the secret mission the Princess has sent me on. Unfortunately before I could fulfil it, these uncivilized beings manhandled me onto their contraption. I feared for my circuits, sir! I was convinced I was about to be melted down and then a horrible fate would befall my mistress. I can't tell you sir what she has entrusted to me, but-”

Luke turned to one of the small sentients half his size. “I take this droid of your hands. You take imperial credits?”

The being said something in reply that could have gone either way if it weren't for the protocol droid interpreting. “That was a yes, sir. I can't tell you how grateful I am. Truly, I was about at the end of my rope. You must understand that my circuits are not build for strain. Certainly not for such as I have been encountering.”

“Shut up, droid,” Luke said flatly, unable to stand it right now. The galaxy and the Force shifted in echo to this far reaching decision that had just been made for Luke. A disturbance at the very least. Luke looked at Ben. _Will you go and tell Father that I need Jix to create an identity of Luke Skywalker._

_“I am not a messenger boy, Luke.”_ Ben reminded him as Luke dug out a number of hard credits and handed them over to the Jawa. _“It won't work either. Even if there is a paper trail, any hand on investigation will show that there is not a single being here who remembers you living here.”_

Not looking at him, Luke patted R2's dome quickly and waved Threepio to follow him. The silence spoke.

Ben stared at Luke, a note of horror on his face this time. _“You are not.” _When Luke said nothing, Ben repeated, more forcefully. _“You cannot be serious, Luke. This is no joking matter!”_

_'I know that it isn't,' _Luke snapped back. 'I_'m not exactly jumping for joy, now am I? But human memory is faulty anyway and I'm not doing this for malicious reasons. It needs to be done! What do you want more? Even if this weren't about you too, to get a shot at the Death Star this background is needed.' _A sick feeling churned in Luke's stomach and he gave up the pretence of staring at the ground, meeting Ben's eyes head on. Ben looked angry and disappointed and helpless all rolled into one. '_I'm going to do as little as possible. I'm not going to take advantage of anyone. But please, don't you see?'_

“The other droid is the better choice, Sir,” Luke told Mr Lars as he was about to make a choice. Partial awareness was something Luke had mastered a long time ago. Had needed to, because with the impressions the Force gave him, all regular side conversations with an apparition only Luke and his father could see had cared for that. '_Ben, shouldn't you be happy with this? It may be risky, but that risk is to _you_. Shouldn't you be helpful I'm even willing to take those odds? Haven't you done worse in the clone wars? This is hardly more than a large scale mind trick.'_

_“Because the Clone Wars were so good for the Jedi,”_ Ben gritted out. Then the irritation fled from him and a fatigued man was left. _“Luke, this is more than a mind trick. Yes, I have done worse, but it was horrible and no Jedi should do it. I don't want this to become a habit.”_

3PO and R2 had started a somewhat whispered conversation a few feet away and already they were insulting each other again. But R2 truly did seem familiar with him. _It won't_, Luke promised silently. Then he smiled._ I have you reminding me. If I slip, you will stop me._

An intangible hand patted Luke's head like he used to do when Luke had still been small, but the smile he gave was infinitely sad and horribly broken. _“I can do nothing, little one. Not anyone else, and not you can I stop.”_

Before Luke could say anything, do anything at all to ease that terrible pain, Ben was gone. As if he had never exited in the world. Unbound, nothing to hold him, to stop him from drifting away. No proof of his existence and no guarantee that he would return. No assurance that he would not be ended as final as death in the next second.

Luke's heart grew cold with fear and his eyes stung with tears of helplessness and soon both swung over to set his blood on fire with anger, the kind of fury that made his hands itch with the urge to take the Emperor by the throat and choke him to death. A cruel and slow death, to have him experience the suffering he brought onto Ben.

When his focus returned to reality, Luke's eyes were cold with determination.

He smiled at Mr Lars, lip-service only. “Are you happy with your choice?”

The farmer eyed the silver droid he has chosen. It was rusting in some places. “Doesn't look like much.”

“I think I still have some time before I have to leave again. I could check it out, if you don't mind.”

Mr Lars stared at him, hard. “We don't need your charity.”

Luke shook his head in denial. “That is not how I meant it. I have to organize some things with my friends and there are also some things I would like your expertise on. I have no local knowledge about Tatooine.” His father's stepbrother was still frowning. “You can pay me with some lunch, if you want.”

The lines around his eyes eased and Luke got a gruffy agreement.

One step at a time. Luke wished the man much success with the vaporators and waved him away, then turned to the droid of the farmer. “You go ahead to that garage. Power down inside.”

“Yes, sir.” It was obedient and severely seemed to lack character. It's steps also weren't the most fluent. Luke would take a look at them later, maybe.

Wasting no time, he rounded on the Princess' droid. “Threepio, what was the mission the Princess gave you?”

The protocol droid was taken aback. “Didn't she inform you of it, Sir? Do pardon me, but how shall I address you?”

“My name is Luke. Call me just that, no sir or anything. I only heard about the mission you are on second hand, so I don't know the details. Do you have the plans?”

“The plans? Oh my dear, you even know about that, sir? But I'm afraid that even then I am not at liberty to discuss the details. I can only say that she has sent me to deliver them to a General Yoda who is supposed to live around here. A dreadful choice, if I may say so, truly horrible. I must also admit that I have never heard of the honourable man in question before so I don't even know what he looks like-”

R2 broke in, proclaiming that he did know and promptly spat out a holopicture of a being that seemed to have jumped straight out of Luke's picture books from toddlerhood. Small, green, three-clawed hands, a green lightsaber as long as he was tall, which was not saying much. R2 also let out a stream of information. Grandmaster of the Jedi Oder, over ninehundred years old, one of the best lightsaber duellists. Had a mischievous streak, but was also one of the most traditional Jedi. A sticker for the Code.

_The kill-emotions Code that even Ben doesn't like for all that he is religiously following it. _

Luke's mind raced. Throwing that Jedi into the equitation might either make things better or much worse. If he was an enemy or an ally. Was it worth the risk seeking him out?

_Definitely. At the very least to calculate future risks._

Luke wasn't dark side either, so he would have nothing to fear from any Jedi.

3PO babbled. “- on the way to seek a great warrior. I can not see how _you_ could ever possibly have come into contact with any such being, scuffy looking as you are-”

Luke cut in impatiently. “Do you have the plans or don't you Threepio?”

“Ah, well, Master Luke I'm afraid I must admit that the Princess powered me down as she hid them somewhere on my person. I do hope they have not gotten lost in this dreadful desert. Why, we would never find them again...”

He continued dramatising the entire experience as Luke led the two droid to the garage as well. Laying his emotions on ice never came easy to him, but tactical planning, Luke's mind tended to race too quickly to let any new ones pop up. Right now, Luke was planing the deception of the decade. Implications, possible consequences, risky factors, it all had to be mapped out and followed to its end.

Once back in the garage, Luke quickly went to work by first searching 3PO from head to to for the data disk, hitting the jackpot by removing a plate covering his back, but even then only after careful digging in the circuits. It seemed the Madam Senator had quite the head for mechanics as well, even if her judgement to trust plans of a secret battle station to this droid might not have been the best. Quickly, he fed the disk to R2 and, as expected and dreaded a hologram of the moonsized waste of space sprung up.

With a heavy sigh, hands shaking from pressure Luke sunk into a seat of his speeder. He allowed himself one calming breath before he punched a code into his commlink.

“This is Agent Antilles. Do you have something to report, Captain?”

_“Nothing so far, Sir. The locals are not aiding the effort. On this planet hardly anyone seems to have proper identifications. The droids we have confiscated so far has turned up nothing.”_ There was some loud background noise that didn't sound too kind.

“I see. I suggest switching priority to the sandcrawlers of the Jawas. The chance to hit a trail by questioning them is higher. I'm heading back to the shuttle to review the data. Antilles out.”

Glancing over the side of the speeder, Luke looked at R2, his droid and companion and Luke's one and only loyal childhood friend. He wasn't alone, but he still had to admit he was afraid. The kind of fear that crept up in people and grew in their shadow.

And Luke was always afraid.

R2 hooted softly, Luke's lips twitched into the echo of a smile and empty as it was, it gave him courage.

Luke missed the comfort of his father's burning and overwhelming presence. At home on Vijun, with his father and Ben and R2, the galaxy was so far away, its threat so distant. It was the only time Luke still had an illusion of safety in his life.

Sometimes it made him want to cry. Most of the time it made him angry. Right now it was the first.

Luke climbed out of the speeder, gave R2 a clinging, childish hug then went further to work.

The troopers were set on the trail that would eventually lead them here. Before they could be allowed to come here, Luke had to set some things up. “R2, do you have some holos of only me without any kind of indiscriminating background. No speeders, no ships, hell, even my clothes can't be allowed to stand out from what anyone would find here, okay?”

Beeping once in acknowledgement, R2 stilled as he scanned though his massive databanks. In the meantime, Luke went over to the translator Mr Lars had bought and went to work on it. Having little patience for it now and time being of the essence, he sped through the repairs and maintenance, cheating with the Force.

At this point it no longer mattered if he caused disturbances.

Perhaps a standard hour later, Luke was done with it all. His skin and clothes were strained with oil and grease as he climbed down into the homestead, searching out Mrs Lars.

He found her once more in the living area, cooking. “Mrs Lars? I have finished the maintenance.”

“Hmm. Thank you, my dear.” She said, adding something to a mixer or the like, only then turning to face him. “Oh my! Look at you. I can see you worked hard,” she laughed. “The fresher is over there. Why don't you clean up some? I'll have this finished too in a few minutes.”

Getting someone to offer them your shower? Easy. Be dirty. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“I told you, call me Aunt Beru.”

But Luke was already gone out into the hallway, passing R2 on the way, who obediently rolled after him, even into the fresher. Luke locked the door, tested how much noise it blocked then asked. “Have you found some pictures? Show me.”

As he stripped the dirty undercover clothes off, he watched the presentation of holos, rejecting the majority so that in the end only a dozen of pictures were left, from toddlerhood to his mid teen years (after which there were none that didn't show him in his current changed appearance disguise).

They revealed absolutely nothing of surroundings or circumstances and Luke had never been quite so glad that except for everything that had an engine, he had no taste whatsoever for high quality. Most were of him looking like he just crawled out of a sub-light engine, hydrospanner in hand, but that told absolutely nothing. “While I'm talking with them, I want you to upload the holos on a some medium you can find here. Don't have to be visible. Just the kind that if the house was searched, they would be found.”

Sonic showers were popular on water restricted planets, but also otherwise in common use. They were quick and using water generally counted more as a comfortable use. With water Luke would have likely gotten the color better out of his hair, but with some time and effort it mostly worked like this as well. There was nothing to be done about the eye-color, but that was because it was an effect generated with beauty products. Generally used by those who wanted other eye colors for artistic reasons and needed to be reapplied every two weeks, they caused some kind of biological reaction or so, Luke didn't really know. Didn't really care either. Gray was after all close enough to blue that the return of his natural color would go mostly unnoticed.

The hair and eye colors had been specifically chosen after all to make him look older. No one ever asked twice when he said he was two years older than he actually was.

His clothes were still dirty as ever, but it mattered hardly. Those made him fit in properly on this backwater planet.

When Luke was done in the fresher, no one knowing Luke Antilles would recognize him.

_Step by step._

Ben wasn't back yet. Either he was going to stay with Luke's father for now or he had a disagreement with the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces.

R2 rolled away from him as Luke re-entered the living area. The table was already set, the food prepared. Even both Lars' were in the room, talking. Luke's heart twisted. He pushed it ruthlessly aside. This was necessary.

Mrs Lars was pleasantly surprised by his changed appearance and beamed at him. “Owen just told me he saw what you did to the translator. He is very impressed. Thank you, Luke.”

Luke forced a smile. “Think nothing of it. I told you I like mechanics.”

She hushed them all to the table, happiness all but rolling off her. It made Luke's bad feeling worse. He wasn't sure he had ever felt as guilty as he did now, including that time he had wrecked his father's favourite speeder and once at the academy when he accidentally caused the death of a fellow cadet.

It was a real small family meal Beru Lars had prepared, all of them sitting around the table like a real family. If the food had any taste, Luke was too distracted to notice it. Ben blinked back into existence early in the meal and the small talk (_“I informed Anakin of your plan. He is anything but pleased, however he does see the unrivalled potential as well. He wanted me to remind you of the high risks. If this path fails, its over. But he is sending Jix and as I know him, his mind was already racing ahead of him with plots. He wanted you to know that if you miss a step anywhere he'd recover you by force if necessary.” _He huffed exasperated. _“I'm not a messenger boy.”)._

“I wanted to know,” Luke began after he had processed the news, well into the meal, “do you know someone of the name Yoda living around these parts?”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Ben startle badly, all but whipping around in interest.

The couple traded a glance, their uneasiness visible to the plain eye. Mrs Lars cleared her throat. “He is the one who brought you to us as a newborn. Lived in a small hut over to the south west of the Dune Sea. A strange species, nothing quite like I ever saw.” Then she glanced to her husband, apparently unwilling to speak further.

“He is dead,” Owen Lars said, matter-of-factly. (Ben's entire body sagged in disappointment.)“Has been for years.” He traded a glance with his wife. “We aren't sure, but since he brought you here and your father wasn't actually dead as he told us...We have been thinking if maybe you were kidnapped and Anakin killed that Yoda being when he came here. From the timing, it does fit.”

(Luke couldn't resist a glance to the side at Ben. His face was a grimace of abstract horror then twisted in grief, guilt, shame and pain flooded him. It was painful to swallow, painful to look at and Ben turned away, facing the wall.)

“Oh,” Luke said. “Um, I haven't heard anything like that at all. But I guess it can't be helped now.” They probably hit the nail on the head, though. Darth Vader had executed and ended-by-completion the Jedi hunt. “Where around here is the best spaceport to get off planet, what do you suggest?”

This subject was significantly lighter and Mrs Lars seemed to appreciate it a lot. “That would probably be Mos Esley. It is well known to us and spacers do get on and off planet from there in masses.”

“If you are looking for a decent transport you should go farther,” Mr Lars advice in a way that seemed to be more instruction than anything. “Mos Esley is crawling with criminal scum. Most of the offworders are dealing with the hutts and would just as well stab you in the back as bring you anywhere.”

_In other words the kind of people that want to avoid imperial notice._

“Good to know, thank you.” Luke paused, withdrawing into himself some, letting the Force into his being, spark in his blood. Carefully, probing, he searched out the two minds near him. Luke's first impression was true that the desert had formed them into the kind of person where suggestions wouldn't take hold. He swallowed. It was going to get ugly, then. “What do you think my life would have been like if father had not found me?”

Immediately, images and feelings sprung at Luke from the depth of the two's beings. In that moment it became clear that they had wanted children but never been blessed with them. That Luke had been the child for them. That they had even given him their name at the urging of the Jedi Master. That Beru would have loved raising him. That Owen wasn't overly fond of Anakin, but that Beru's happiness would have been his and that he could have always needed a helping hand.

Their good hearts, their sincerity, their trust made what Luke was planing all the worse. His stomach revolted and almost threw the food back up, but Luke clung to the could-have-been the two imagined and voiced (though he didn't hear a word of it), fuelling his power into it leading the imagery into something-close-to-memories.

“I would have been a hellion.”

“You would have been a hellion.” More images to suggest into memories. They hadn't rejected the mindtouch yet and metaphorically speaking allowed him entrance.

_That happened. That happened. That happened._

“I didn't have any friends, loved driving on my own for long amounts of time, and spent a lot of my time with Yoda. I always wanted away from Tatooine and was impatient for it.”

“You didn't have any friends, were often away driving, spend much time with Yoda. You couldn't wait to leave here.”

“Yoda passed on only recently.”

“Yoda died only a short time ago.”

“Today I found a droid with a message from a princess and so I ran away from home.”

“You ran away from home because of a message from a princess.”

In a dream-like state, Luke planted the suggestions and planted them deep, even as he got to his feet and moved fluently like a shade away from where they sat with blank faces.

By the exit he paused, looking over the shoulder. It wasn't really needed, but...

“You are very angry with me and don't want to see me again.”

They deserved their anger. And Luke did not deserve the kindness given to him here and the standing invitation to return here. A last retreat and one that Luke cut off himself.

Their anger would protect them if they were threatened, though the troopers shouldn't do any such thing...

Even as he climbed into the speeder he had come with, Luke was still firmly pouring energy and _faith_ and _truth_ and _memories_ into their minds. 3PO was put in a back seat (how lucky that Luke had chosen a bigger speeder), R2 was going to drive and as far as his reach extended, Luke held the connection.

When it finally broke, he was sweaty, exhausted and felt his eyes drop. “Wake me when we arrive at that hut,” he instructed, then promptly fell asleep. His sleep was troubled with the tumults of the future.

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The hut of former Jedi Master Yoda didn't look too good, though it did more or less meet Luke's expectations. It had been over a decade and a half since Luke's father had been here, but the echoes of his fury still remained. They were seeped in the grating burn lines a lightsaber left in the stone, polluting the very air.

Darth Vader had been here, no doubt, and the echoes were so strong that Luke only needed to close his eyes to have sights and sensations of long time past reach into his mind. Father, a black cloaked form of indescribably fury that made Luke feel terribly cold and terrified, a small hooded green alien with a stick meeting him. The clash between them. The death. Indescribable shock making the shroud of darkness crack.

Luke swallowed thickly. This was the moment father found out about him.

He'd killed the Jedi for it.

Ben was trailing his ghostly hands along a fissure in the ground, one that was not caused by lightsabers but by Force, mourning.

There was no body anywhere. Luke could not even give the being a funeral.

He swallowed again and pushed his emotional turmoil aside. He needed to focus if he wanted to investigate this and make it fit into the identity he wanted to create, though he was aware that if one of the Emperor's hundreds of Force adepts came to investigate, the story would fall like a castle of sand.

The hut or what remained of it was covered in sand, the grains and harsh weather having eaten away at it over the years. In fact, it took Luke time to even find the remains, so little distinctive traits remained. Luke stared and found that his impatience would never allow him to take the time he'd need to search and fake this place even if he actually _had_ the time available. Which he didn't. Because he'd set his own troops on the trails that would lead to where the driod with the plans no longer was but where they could find out where and who he was with now.

It had been a necessary move to maintain Luke Antilles' job, and even more important to make it l_ook real, _but it also prove to be obstacles he had to overcome.

“Run a scan Artoo, for anything giving off an energy signature, for anything standing out. Everything related to Jedi and the Force,” he instructed distractedly, his eyes seeking out the translucent form of his living companion. “Do you know this place, Ben?”

Ben didn't look away from the battle scars for a long time, making Luke wonder what he read in them, before he finally shook his head. _“This was before my time, young one.” _His eyes, translucent and blue as well, which Luke had never seen in flesh, were deeply, deeply burdened. It made Luke uneasy that the look was directed at _him_. Meant for Luke, the meaning behind it applied to Luke. “_When this, here, happened, Anakin had been too deeply immersed within the Darkness for me to reach him.”_

Luke couldn't stand to meet those eyes.

_“You gave your father light back – you gave me hope for the man I think of as my brother back.” B_en – no he could only be called Obi-Wan right now – spoke softly, his words kind and warm. They carried so much gratitude, so much _faith,_ and all for something that Luke never did and for something he couldn't believe.

Of course Luke was alive. And father was a good man, no matter what the rest of the galaxy thought. Luke had seen him furious saw this echo of Darkness that still lingered. But just because there was the dark didn't mean there was no light – there had _always been and always will_ be good in Father.

It hurt, and it made Luke sick that at one moment, Uncle Ben had thought differently because the Jedi taught no else.

If there was one reason Luke could cut his resentment towards the Jedi Order down to, then it was _that_.

Just as Luke was about to turn on his heels and leave, as though he could possibly outrun the appreciation he didn't earn, R2's loud tweedling demanded attention.

Luke forcefully breathed out to calm himself. “What is it Artoo?”

The little droid's sensors were extended, pointing towards a particularly lonely looking corner of the hut's remains, mildly shadowed from the wind and with sand gathered in its shadow. Luke rolled up his sleeves and went digging through the mountain the same size as him.

“Urgh. I'll be peeling out sand from under my nails for -” Luke stilled. His fingers had brushed over something cool in the warm sand, yet coldness was not the sensation that tingled up his arm. As his fingers closed over something cold and long, he _knew_ what he would pull out and already his eyes widened.

The hilt was shorter than any saber Luke had ever seen, but it glinted silver in the bright sun and had black covering. It was alive in his hands, though when he pressed the button no blade sprang to life.

“It's so dirty,” he muttered. “There's got to be so much sand in it I could probably fill a beach with it...” sighing, well aware of Ben's cautious eyes on him, Luke clipped the blade next to his own. Jedi or no, someone who personally had a hand in Luke's early life or no, a lightsaber, the only remains of the person once wielding it, did not deserve to fall into pieces alone and forgotten in the desert.

“Nothing else, Artoo? Then let's go. Jix can deal with the rest.”

Emotionally exhausted and yet knowing that the day had only just begun, Luke looked determinedly to the horizon as he climbed back down to his speeder.


	4. Luke; Han

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so embarrassed, I published the chapters in the wrong order! For the latest, go to chapter three. I can't believe I did this..

They made a stop in Anchorehead, nothing long, hardly more than driving though, where Luke once more withdrew into the Force, picked out the most surrounding weakest minds and tricked them into thinking that the Lars' had a nephew who had run away. Only a few of the suggestions had to stick. Gossip and make belief would do the rest to created some reclusive persona. From there it went at high speed to Mos Esley.

Mos Esley was ironically the very place the imperial shuttle Luke had arrived with was still waiting for the return of its crew. It would return one person short. Luke returned the speeder, withdrew into a sidealley, punched in communication and let the Captain bear ear witness to Luke Antilles' demise, confusion properly underlined by 3PO's commentary. After the commlink was properly shot with his blaster (ever so uncivilized, but it was standard equipment, so Luke had one too).

His last link to the Empire destroyed, Luke went to search for a ship to take him off planet and to the Rebellion.

As chances of actually running into a rebel by coincidence stood so low, the blond didn't even think the Force capable of pulling it, he had to go about it smartly.

Since Luke could hardly ask Princess Leia Organa herself about the very next rebel base, since as a farmer wouldn't even know the princess was captured, the logical choice anyone would make was to deliver it to the next best person, her family. Viceroy Bail Organa of the House of Alderaan, in this case, and Luke knew that his father suspected at least some background founding for the resistance.

He'd be as good a person to go to as any. And for that he needed to Alderaan, rich Core World. That it was near the Emperor was not good, but the Rebellion didn't exactly have a public office.

So Luke was stuck with Bail Organa.

The first road block Luke ran into was that the place he suspected spacers met was forbidden for droids.

After he conquered the first by stashing R2 and 3PO out of sight on a roof top (and giving R2 an 'all weapons free' authorisation), Luke entered the bar and ran into his second one. What was he supposed to do? How? How was he supposed to pick good pilots? First of all, how was he supposed to pick spacers apart from local scum (i.e. slavers)?

A first disastrous meeting that ended in a smoking body later (which no one looked twice at, freakishly enough), Luke scrapped his pride, threw it to his crushed optimism and mentally poked at Ben (who had been silent and in a black mood ever since he had heard about that Yoda Jedi).

Ben glowered, but in the end suggested asking a wookiee. _“They are an honourable race,”_ he said. Then he was gone, as in disappeared to his former apprentice. And Luke was left alone to tackle the third road block of not understanding the wookie language.

_There is no try, there is only do._

“Excuse me,” Luke tried, once twice and thrice. The wookiee didn't even notice him. That was as far as good manners brought him. Irritation flashing, Luke pulled at a patch of fur he could reach and then promptly had his body dodge a swinging arm that would have knocked him clean out had it hit. “Hey!”

The wookiee roared. The bar smelled bloody entertainment. J_ust great!_

“Look, I'm sorry,” Luke told the very angry being that was at least twice as tall as he, backing up. “But I tried being polite and you didn't even notice me!”

The wookiee bared his fangs and snapped something, rising to his feet, making his size even more impressive.

Luke didn't speak Shyriiwook. At the moment, he didn't notice that. “How was I supposed to know it is offensive on Kashyyyk? I have never been there before and I just wanted to ask you if you happen to be a pilot!”

Growling at him once, or perhaps sniffing, was all it took, then the fury left as quick as it had come. _An honourable race indeed, _Luke thought, but then was promptly lost again when the wookiee barked and he didn't understand a word anymore.

It seemed to be a question. Maybe? Anyway, now that the fight didn't seem to be happening, attention was away from them again, and Luke dared speak of what he wanted. The wookiee seemed fierce, strong, but not tainted by malicious or cowardly imprints. The Force gave him no warning, so Luke dared risk it. “I apologize for offending you, I did not mean to. There isn't much that I know about wookiees, but I was told you are an honourable kind and so I thought that at the very least asking for your opinion could not be wrong. I'm looking for passage for myself and a couple of droids to Alderaan. Preferably fast. Are you a pilot? Can you recommend one?”

Growling and barking went right over Luke's head, but the gesturing was something even those deaf and stupid could understand. Luke followed and found himself looking at a booth to the side, with two seated people.

_Correction. Make that one human male and one rodian corpse._

Luke wanted to wrinkle his nose at the body, then decided to just push it aside. It was big enough for Luke to sit down without touching the thing.

The man, brown haired, maybe ten years older, was smirking at him and obviously internally laughing. Luke scowled. The smirk grew wider and the Son of Vader had to fight not to let his temper get the better of him. “I'm looking for a transport to Alderaan,” he gritted out. “Do you have a ship to take me?”

That irritating loopsided mocking smirk didn't leave the man's face as he put his elbows to the table and put his head in his hands. “Alderaan, huh? That is pretty far for a farmboy like you. Have any money?”

“How much does it cost? Before you try it, I'm not easy picking and I'm not wet behind the ears.”

The man's expression slackened. Silently, Luke cursed.

Luke hadn't slipped up that deadly in years. Best tactic: pretend ignorance. He rolled his eyes. “Can't you criminals ever say something original? I've had that speech already from the other one! And unless you haven't noticed, that is the body at the other end of the canteen. Do you have a ship for a human passenger and two droids or don't you? Because I have got better things to do that listen to criminals boost up their own egos.”

First step to distraction: keep talking. Second: become offensive so that in favour of bruised egos and anger everything leading up to it is forgotten. _As article three in the Conditions So That Luke May Go To The Academy, written by Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator, and Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader._

The wookiee at the side gave a warning growl. Luke flashed him a glare. Priorities had just shifted. Accidentally speaking out loud what another person said could sometimes be passed off as a coincidence. But _not _always. Luke had to ensure it was -

“Oh, kid, you think you know what you are talking about?” The man snarled back in anger. “The_ Millenium Falcon _is the fastest ship ever. Made the Kessel Run in twelve parsec! And I'm the best pilot you can find here! I would have been willing, you know, to charter a kid. Perhaps even give you a discount on age, but you know, I don't think I want you on board even if you could pay me the imperial treasury.” Fuming, the criminal rose to leave.

Luke slapped his palms to the table, shooting to his feet. “You're not!”

“What? Leaving? You better _damn well_ think I am, kid. You've had one lucky escape from the wookiee. Don't tempt a second.” Imposing as ever, Luke thought right now the wookiee was rather unimpressive.

Glaring holes in the man's back, Luke growled, “I meant you aren't the best pilot.”

Stopping in his path, the brown head glanced over the shoulder back at Luke. The temper was gone, replaced with something sharper. “Oh. And who else?_ You?_” He scoffed.

“Yes. _Me._”

The man threw him a look so incredulous, it should be posted in a dictionary right next to the definition. Then he burst out laughing. “Yeah right!”

That battle with his temper turned into twitching fingers. The _dangerous_ kind of twitchy fingers. For the man. _I'll prove it to him-_ Anger forgotten, Luke felt his lips twitch into a smirk. “This is what we'll do, kind sir,” he said confidently. “I was told to trust wookiees. This one suggested you. So. There has got to be a reason for it. Which means you are probably the best immediate bet on this planet.” That pleased the guy and Luke got his attention back. Feeding on arrogance was also something written in Luke's Handbook. “I can't stand you but so long as the end objective is reached, I can bear with it. Here is what we'll do. A bet. What would you charge me for the transport of my person and two droids?”

“Sixteen thousand,” the man humored him, just to see where this was going. “Half in advance. With the imperial blockade that's going on at the moment.”

Even without the fact that it was overpriced jumping out at Luke in loud thoughts, this suited him just well. The higher the sum, the more bitter the defeat. Grin becoming sharp, Luke nodded. “I'll pay you fourthousand in advance, the rest you get if you dare race against me. Since I don't have a ship and I doubt this rock has a pair of simulators anywhere, we'll have to wait till Alderaan to do that. The stakes are going to be this: If you win, I'm going to pay you twenty thousand and admit you are the second best pilot in the galaxy. If I win you are going to admit I'm the better one and I'll get half the advance back. _What _do you say, _good sir_?” Luke tempted, goading.

A snort escaped Luke's unfortunate business partner. “Look kid, the deal sounds interesting. And for that much money I'd be willing to overlook your mouth, but the point is, _you don't have that much_.”

His grin had teeth. “Oh, but I do.” Luke held out his hand. “Shake, take me and my droids to your ship and I'll transfer it over to you.”

Dark eyes stared at Luke's hand, then followed the limb up to his face. “You are serious, aren't you? Are you crazy?” They shook. “If you don't have the money, I'm going to kick you straight off,” the man warned seriously and for the first time Luke saw someone who might actually have the potential for competence.

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Han Solo left a Mos Esley canteen with one shadow more than he had entered, and didn't know what to make of his passenger.

“What is your name, by the way?”

“Han. And that big guy there is Chewie.”

The kid stared at him for a long moment with an odd look, then nodded. “I'm Luke.” To Chewie: “I don't speak Shyriiwook, but one of my droids is a translator. I hope we can get along well.”

Chewie howled his agreement, then offered Han his opinion that he liked the kid despite the somewhat bumpy start. Han rolled his eyes.

“Hey kid, I hope you didn't let your droids stand around here. Cause then they are gone now.”

All fresh of the farm cheek – or was he? -, the boy scoffed. “Don't be ridiculous. If you'll wait a moment.”

His blond hair was especially pale in the suns of Tatooine, almost reflecting it as Han watched him walk into the opposite sidealley, where he stood really out with his white clothes.

In that dark canteen it had been that all prim and proper accent and all the big words that had Han almost do a double take and expected to see some dignitary's son or something and out here it was that his skin was _cooked, _red with a heavy sunburn. No way would a native ever get a sunburn here.

As Han watched, the boy took a two step inrun, then with a couple jumps between the walls he had flipped onto a roof at least four meters in size. Eyebrows shooting up was as far as Han's surprise went at this athletic display.

“_There is something odd about him,_” Chewie said, similarly observing as first an R2 unit lowered itself to the ground with its own inbuild booster jets, _which were not standard._

“You don't have to tell me.”

_“It's more than that,_” Chewie grunted. He sounded thoughtful. _“There is something familiar. His smell is strange, but it's more than that.”_

Han sighed. “Tell me when you figure it out. Or shoot him if he's a danger.” Truthfully, Han had no idea what he was to make of the kid either. Because he was just _odd_.

Vaguely dressed like the average farmer here and his clueless behaviour would make Han label him as a farmboy almost immediately, but there were things that s_tood out._

_Like lowering himself and a protocol droid at least as tall as him from a height that could kill a human falling from. How did he get them up there anyway? Smart though. No one voluntarily looks that high up unless they want to go blind._

Not to mention that there was an easy confidence that he carried around and absolutely no fear, even when surrounded by criminals. Ignorance? Arrogance? Maybe.

_But at least half his story seems to be true. If he has droids, he may actually have that much money._

If Han didn't have that debt to Jabba, he would have actually felt bad to rip a clueless kid off like that.

Except was he really clueless? Sure, from the way he had more or less stumbled his way to find a ride. But something rubbed Han the wrong way, writing the kid off like that. Something he couldn't yet put his fingers on still stood out in their interaction.

In his experience farmboy kids also didn't walk over a body like they did it every day.

Ah, but well. He didn't actually care. It wasn't his business and so long as he got his money he had no intention of poking his nose into it.

“Well, lead the way then, _Captain_ Solo.”

That was also something that grit on his nerves. That politeness. No one spoke that politely to Han unless they were mocking him or sarcastic. And the kid had already demonstrated his wit, suckering him into a bet like that. “Don't call me Captain unless you mean it,” he snapped, stalking off. “Otherwise it’s just Han.”

The R2 unit beeped something, the meaning of which Han only understood vaguely.

“No, Artoo, we can't,” boy said in return, sounding like he very much wanted to. “Where do you suppose we get a ship from here?” A loud and lively whistle that had Chewie growl at it and the kid smother laughter. “I'll note that down for further reference later, buddy, but stealing a ship isn't exactly avoiding notice.”

Another hoot, this one distinctly mournful. “Just bear with it. It's not forever. I'll clean your circuits, first thing once we are off this rock. I bet the galaxy will look better then.” The droid's dome was patted with great affection, then it raced off a few steps ahead of Han, apparently impatient.

Mentally Han chalked being fluent with binary to the list of oddities.

“Now really Artoo! Show some manners. These gentlemen are so kind as to offer us a ride and you have nothing to do but insult them. I wouldn't be surprised if Master Solo decided to throw you out the air lock! Or melt you down. It would certainly serve you right. At least refrain from dragging me or Master Luke down with you - don't you call me a spineless bootlicker! I'll have you know that to please is in my programming! Unlike yours obviously,” the golden rod of a drod bickered against its counterpart. “Oh, Master Luke. I don't know what to do with that one. I have never-”

Gritting his teeth as Han lead them near the hanger, he wondered if for all the promise of money this was really going to be worth it. Because it seemed like the kid may not be the most annoying in the trio of passengers after all.

The Falcon came into view, though, and her beauty always took Han's train of thought into any other direction away. “The Milleninum Falcon. That fastest ship this side-”

“….What a piece of junk.” The kid rounded on him. “That thing is the ship? How are you ever going to get it off the ground?”

Chewie growled in anger and Han was _this_ short of taking a blaster to the kid's face. “Hey! Insulting me is one thing, but you say anything about the Falcon I'll kick out had first into the atmosphere! Money be damned!”

The kid wasn't listening. His expression had become vacant and distant, somewhere past Han's shoulder and he held out an arm in a clear sing for caution. “Someone is there,” he said, his voice gaining a somewhat vacant quality. “Several. With malicious intent...” Blinking, the blue gray eyes refocused on Han, expression hard. “If you go out there into open space like this, you will be dead before you can lower your ship's ramp.”

“Disastrous! What are we going to do, Master Luke?”

A chill ran up and down Han's spine even as he glared at the brat. “And how would you know? Oh, wait. Don't tell me. You hired them to steal our ship.”

A red flush of anger that even overrode the sunburn rose to the kid's cheeks. “As if I ever wanted to steal a rust bucket like that! And I certainly wouldn't need the help from some lowlife either!”

“Oh yeah?” Growled Han, making an effort to keep his voice low. Given the arrogance the kid had shown so far, the smuggler wouldn't put it past him to think exactly that, but then there was the problem of how he knew there was some scum waiting in an ambush. “Then how do you know?”

Not sure what he had expected, maybe some more insults. Definitely not the sudden inability to meet Han's eyes in a universal sign of guilt. Kid or not, had Chewie in that moment not chosen to growl his agreement, Han would have taken out his blaster.

Han's eyes narrowed. “You can smell them? How many?”

“Just three.” It was the kid who answered again and Chewie just shrugged.

Now Han did take out his blaster. Jabba got impatient then. “We'll split up then. Chewie, you go right. I go left. Take the unconventional ways. Kid, don't move.”

The gray eyes narrowed at him. “Oh, don't worry. I won't. This gives me a perfect chance to observe the great skills of the great Captain Solo.”

Now things got clearer. That would make reason hiring them and then warning about it. Either that or it was Jabba. Either way, he'd find out once they left planet where, which might not be such a bad option even if Jabba had not blown his poodoo yet. “Yeah, you do that.”

Chewie howled in parting that it wasn't the kid's fault - damn furball knew Han too well - then the smuggler team split up.

Usually a hanger doubling as a landing pat such as this was built with several side entrances, for maintenance if nothing else, though also for emergencies, but given the nature of people using this, they had all been locked and blocked and destroyed to prevent unwanted visitors. Like now. But of course not a single law breaker actually cared if a way was blocked. Given the need, a little explosion might just clear the way wonderfully.

So long as the targets weren't there to notice, no one cared either.

Even if these guy had come though the main entrance in Han and Chewie's absence, there would be some more or less available ways to sneak up from behind.

And - _bingo._

_A rodian. A comrade of the guy I shot in the canteen? That was Jabba's... But there are more than enough criminal rodians running around without any connection between them._

From his position, he couldn't hit the male directly, but those empty crates over him. Han shot and the empty things tumbled down on his would-be assailant.

_One of three down._

A roar from the other side signalled that Chewie was done with one on his side as well and now there was only one left. The question was where.

Han didn't see him. Even creeping along the catwalks few stories off the ground, Han didn't see them.

Just then, the kid walked straight into the open space, no cover whatsoever. Han shouted down at him.

“The last one fled,” the kid shouted back up. “Can we go now before he comes back with reinforcements?”

Like Han was going to believe that.

On the other side, Chewie apparently did and was supremely unconcerned about the chance of getting shot at. Which he wasn't. Putting away his blaster, Han looked for a quicker way down than he took up here.

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“Okay, out with it.”

Blaster pointed at his chest, the kid looked up at Han with wide eyes. “Out with what, exactly?”

Goldenrod and the little R2 unit protested in the background, but they were already on the ship, and between them and their master stood Han on the ramp with a primed blaster. “Did you hire those to test me or did you not?”

Disdain flashed before it was swallowed by that very unimpressed and very calm blankness. “Paranoid much? I don't have that much money to throw around, so you can put that thing away.” As if it weren't a weapon still set to kill, the kid just pushed it away from him and walked past Han as if he owned the place. “The power pack is empty, by the way.”

No way. Han pressed the trigger and a red bolt blasted into the dusty ground. “It isn't!”

Chewie howled with laughter and the kid stood, up on top of the ramp and now actually looking down his nose at him, with a hand on his hip and a smile. “It is now.”

Han glared. “Oh ha ha.” Stomping up and smashing a fist into the switch closing the ramp, he leaned into the brat's face. “Now listen here, kid. This isn't over. If you didn't hire them, how did you know they were there?”

The cheek and smugness drained like water and there was a stone faced person left that looked nothing like the nickname Han had given him. “That is absolutely none of your business. Be grateful that my warning let you keep your pulse.”

Chewie cut in when Han opened his mouth to start shouting. “_Leave him be. He had nothing to do with that.”_

Temper raising, Han rounded on his copilot. “How do you know? Don't tell me you gave your guy time to spill his guts.”

Chewie snarled. “_Don't take out your anger on me, Han! I just placed what was so odd about the child. It is his kind's skill that allows him to know things neither you or I would notice. If he had not spoken up you and I would be dead.”_

“His kind?” Han repeated sceptically, turning to look the kid over. “Aren't you human?” The kid looked human enough, that was for sure, if extremely wary of this conversation that he couldn't follow.

“I'm as human as they come.” Hands disappearing below his poncho, the kid pulled out an advanced 'pad. “I have places to be, people to see, Captain Solo and though I must admit your skills outside a ship aren't suicidal, I would like to be convinced of this freighter's ability to lift off the ground before I give you your advance payment.”

Changed subject. Han let him think he hadn't noticed.

Han wasn't all that big on believing things like mindreaders existed, but he had seen a good part of the galaxy and there were a great many things that he wouldn't have believed possible during his time as a street rat. And maybe that in the canteen was only a coincidence, but then again, maybe it wasn't. Maybe he had ways to guess at thoughts from body language or something.

...didn't the kid start his first round of insults just immediately after? It _had_ gotten Han to mostly forget about it and push it aside...

Might also very well have been a distraction and to cover up after himself. An interesting thought. That would make the kid a great deal sharper and as such potentially dangerous.

Searching for anything that stood out, Han ran his eyes over the kid and came up empty. Except for the burned skin and the confident, almost military posture, he looked like a farmboy through and through.

“Yeah,” Han drawled. “And if you don't keep your end of the bargain, I'll kick you out from space.”

The kid smiled. Thin and humourless.

“No, I want to see those advance fourthousand now. No bargain.”

For a moment Han thought it was going to be an argument again, but then blue eyes were fixed on him with the kind of stare that went right through. Slowly, the kid conceded. “Fine. Your wookie partner trusts you apparently.”

Han dug out a pad for credit transfer and was at this point only mildly surprised when the sum was confirmed. It hinted that the kid did have at least the founds to own up to the complete deal. No farmers on this planet had that kind of resources available. Just short of being Jabba's human protégé Han doubted anyone on this planet could afford that much. 

Eyeing the kid again, the smuggler toyed with another notion. “You want to avoid imperial notice?”

Looking up from his muted conversation with his pet droid, the blond shot him annoyed glare. “Obviously. Is that all or do you have some other questions? Perhaps some that are none of your business and that will prove spectacularly that you have never heard of the word _discretion_. And here I thought it was the kind of basic attitude in your dealings that keep your nose out of issues that might or might not take your head off on a whim,” the kid said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Whatever was I thinking?”

“Hey, no need to get snappish, princeling,” Han shot back. The new nickname had just shot to his head, but the way the kid paled instead of an angry flush he got when he was insulted, Han seemed to have unwittingly hit something. Something he should keep his nose out of, as the brat pointed out, to keep trouble at bay. Some runaway dignitary's son? Han pretended he hadn't seen the reaction with his usual ease. “That was just clearing things up. Strap yourself in. I just got a call to make to my boss and then you're on your way.”

Feeling eyes on him until he was out of sight, Han sighed. It seemed he had really gotten himself some high standards cargo this time. Chewie was in the cockpit, already warming up the engines.

A miniature holo of Jabba the Hutt sprung up and Han had to focus on smooth talking him. It wasn't all that difficult, not with the promise of money in the equation. After a few threats here and there and a bit pushing back and forth, Han had some time before he was going to get a new wave of bounty hunters on his trail. The ambush in the hanger had come from the slug, apparently.

With practised ease, Han ignored flight control when they warned him to remain on ground as ordered by the imperial traffic control and though they were shot at, the Falcon cleared the atmosphere with no damage and little problem.

In space they ran into the sight of one giant destroyer looming overhead and another two breaking over to cut them off, but the shields held and they made for hyperspace.

“Huh, so you do have above average piloting skills. Maybe you won't lose our bet as badly then,” a voice said from behind and Han jumped in his seat.

Standing just inside the cockpit, arms crossed, but oddly expressionless, the kid let his eyes drift around, over controls and readings, over Chewie and Han, as if they were part of the décor. The kid could really put up a stench of arrogance when he wanted.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re pretty damn arrogant, kid?” Han demanded. “And you are _not_ invited here.”

Again that stare that could make even a giant want to double check the size differences. “It's not arrogance if it’s true,” the kid said, foregoing the other comment entirely. “To my knowledge there is exactly one pilot in the galaxy better than me. You are not him.”

“Oh! Oh-ho! I see. That makes everything clear, of course. And you know that why? Putting aside your claim that you even can pilot, I doubt you have encountered enough pilots in the galaxy to make that claim. I won't be bested by a kid like you.”

“I was born into it,” was said slowly, as if Han was being particularly dense, the 'obviously' hanging in the air. “My father was the best. I have inherited his talent. Hence, I am obviously one of the very best. Simple logic.”

Han stared at the kid, somewhere caught between the urge to laugh, kick him out, and being flabbergasted. In the end he simply narrowed his eyes again. “That is still a pretty arrogant claim to make. Who do you say is the best pilot, then?”

“The _current_ best is Lord Vader.” The kid shrugged. “We'll see. If you win the bet, then I'll have to admit I was arrogant and set immediately to correct that. Arrogance can get me killed after all. Or,” a meaningful look and wicked grin, “it can lead you to getting paid with only as much as you worked for.”

Chewie barked laughter at the idea and Han rolled his eyes. “So scraping you will be my good deed of the day. Good to know. If only I always got so much money for it.”

An odd expression crossed the kid's face. “Good deeds are never done with the expectation of something in return. If you give to gain, then where is the goodness? Like compassion, it is given for the sake of giving, because it is the just and right thing to do.”

“What is that supposed to be? A quote from some moral guidebook? Try telling that to Darth Vader or better yet send it to the Emperor. Or perhaps to all those other slavers in imperial employee. I bet we'll have a happy galaxy in no time.”

A shadow of pure anger twisted the kid's face for a moment, making him almost look like a different person. “You mean like yourself?”

“What?” said Han dumbly, as Chewie roared.

“You work for Jabba the Hutt, don't you?” the kid said in a quiet but icy voice. “He's a slaver. Don't tell me you don't know. Don't claim by working for him you aren't indirectly having a part in it. How do I know your cargo is always as willing as I.”

Chewie _roared_. The force with which he shot to his feet broke his seat but even then the kid's words didn't sink in, not properly. What he had _implied..._

Chewie was honourable, but he had a temper and his people, he himself, had a personal history with slavery. And to have Han, the one he owed a life debt for saving him from that, accused of it absolutely got the better of him.

It took a punch from Chewie that went right through the cockpits backwall as the kid - miraculously!- dodged the swing to rattle Han into action.

He threw himself at Chewie, pulling him back and struggling against that wild fury. “Come on! You don't want to do this buddy! Watch the Falcon! Hasn't got an idea what he is talking about! Kreth Chewie, he's a_ kid.”_

Chewie fought against him, or didn't notice him in his anger, but eventually Han's words seemed to reach some. The cockpit had taken some more damage by then. Han sported some bruises and the kid stood out of reach, hands fisted at his sides, face absolutely set in stone.

Han rounded on him. _“_You! Unless you seriously want to get spaced_ Watch. Your. Damn. Mouth!”_

“Then watch yours turn.” The kid hissed, before spinning on his heels and marching off, not the slightest bit repentant.

Breathing hard, Han put a hand on his ribs and brushed a hand over his cheek. The cheek hurt and he tasted blood, but his ribs at least seemed to be fine. Catching that, Chewie immediately went into fuzzing mode, patting and touching and checking, but he too was still puffing hard breath in anger.

“It's fine, don't worry about it,” Han told him. He gave his best buddy a clap to the shoulder, then went to the more pressing concern of checking the damage to the Falcon. Luckily they were in hyperspace, a stable journey if there ever was one, else they would have looked like some drunk behind the controls and possibly crashed into an asteroid or something.

As they checked and rechecked, deactivated some things that had no business being activated, activated some that should be, made a list of things that needed repairs, of sensors that were damaged, Han told Chewie in an undertone, “try to keep me from strangling him, buddy. I'm not sure my control will last. Money or no money.”

Chewie only growled harsh agreement, which was not exactly encouraging. For some reason, there was a note of disappointment in his tone. The furball had probably expected better from the kid.

Well, so had Han. Money was money and they needed it, badly, but there was a line Han didn't cross to get it and this kid, as it seemed to be, was actually an entire jump past that line.

If he'd thought the kid could have been like this, he'd have left him stumbling around in a lowlife canteen.

Eventually Han left the cockpit up to Chewie and went to check how much the finer calibrations had been thrown off. Unfortunately the kid was cleaning his droids near it. For a moment Han actually debated doing something else first, but then he gritted his teeth and refused to let the kid throw him off even more.

It took hours of fine calculations and some things could only be tested with an atmosphere and he was just finishing up when he became aware of the eyes on him. Turning away from the readings, he just caught the kid glancing back at the innards of the protocol droid.

“What?” Han demanded harshly. If the kid was - he really, really hadn't been kidding about the spacing, even when almost wished he did.

Deliberately slowly, the blond head lifted. “I - Is there much damage?” His expression was guarded.

“No. Don't worry about your ride. You'll get to Alderaan, pay and then better not cross our way again,” Han snapped.

No reaction, then an other deliberately slow movement. A nod. “I'll pay for the damage.”

“Sithin' right you will,” growled Han.

“Look I -”, the kid sighed. “I didn't mean to say what I did - I mean I did. I mean I,” with a frustrated breath, he blew a strand of blond hair out of his face. “I didn't mean to cause all this...hurt,” he flailed for a word and flopped a hand with a hydrospanner in vague explanation. “I let my anger get the better of me when I shouldn't and I guess I want to apologize for that. So I'm sorry.”

Han worked to unclench his jaw. “You think that is it?”

“No,” said the kid slowly. “No. I caused pain, somehow when I aimed for anger. Sorry doesn't make it better. Sorry doesn't change anything. Once something is done it can't be taken back. But if I don't apologize, then I have not even tried. Giving up before trying, because something looks difficult or painful means nothing can be achieved, nothing can be gained, nothing can grow in the path. Saying sorry is the most and the least I can do.”

Silence, then Han blew out a breath. What was he supposed to say to that? And what was it with this kid anyway? One moment a tongue and temper as sharp as a vibroblade, the next some deep insight that should only be found in those kinds of religious hermits who did nothing but contemplate the meaning of life. But Han was still angry. “Apologize to Chewie and we'll see from there.”

Immediately, the kid got up, his R2 unit hooting and waggling.

“I didn't say you should go now,” Han told the kid's back when he really was going to do it now. “Chewie is has a hot temper and wookies can get very violent.”

The kid looked at him, then sat back down and got back to work. Han left him, running other calibrations in another part of the ship.

Some more hours later, Han heard a yowl and, fearing the worst, ran to find his wookiee friend and found instead a kid almost squeezed to death in a bear hug of forgiveness.

Han stared. “What, so that's it? So easy?”

Chewie shrugged, still hugging, and said, “_other people other circumstances. You made him angry, he wanted to make you angry in return. The child is still learning. He couldn't know he'd scratch in old wounds. Maybe you even scratched at his. This is a good youngling.”_

_“_So it's that easy. You know I'm not sure I'm happy with this,” Han complained, half serious.

The golden protocol droid flailed. “Master Wookiee, sir. Captain Solo. Please! I don't believe Master Luke is getting sufficient air.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, Han brings out the worst in Luke.
> 
> ...just kidding. Thing is, though, that Luke is spoiled, well taught and talented. He also has a high military rank. The times when he does not get his way or have the last word can be counted on one hand, on two digits. Ie when Anakin or Obi-Wan are involved in the discussion. 
> 
> Likewise, Han is used to going about things the way he wants to. If their bickering and fights remind you of his interactions with Leia, then you are right. Minus the romantic tension. Luke and Leia's education and living conditions have a lot of similarities, which makes the similarities in their characters stand out.


	5. Vader; Bail Organa

A shroud of anger that was visible to anyone with just a spark of Force-sensitivity and made anyone not sensitive scramble out of his way rolled ahead of Darth Vader as he left his current flagship along with the only still living prisoner and set his foot on the abomination that was the Death Star.

“Lord Vader,” an entire delegation saluted him on spot, their fear of his current mood, infamous as it was, feeding into the dark side. The men had more important work to do than stand around stiffly and Vader knew his way around on his own. Waste of time and efficiency. So very much Tarkin.

“Back to your posts,” he snapped at them. Unfortunately, even Vader knew the rules of appearances and as little patience as he had for it, he had to keep with a minimum.

It was only with great effort that he resisted from taking his temper out on the poor fool who had been assigned to him on the station to follow him around.

It was supposed to be courtesy. Everyone with the slightest inkling of the mutual loathing between Vader and Tarkin knew better. The officer included. Reminding himself that the man was not at fault, crushing the anger down to save it for Tarkin, he stomped through the mobile station.

The princess, short as she was, had to be dragged into a run to keep pace.

Jabs of pain, echoed by her minimal sensitivity further feed the power Vader felt itching under his skin. If Tarkin pushed his limits, though the fool should know better, Vader could not be held accountable for his actions.

All it would take, such a simple gesture, was relax his control just slightly, just the tiniest bit and it wouldn't make a difference if it was the poodoo of a man's throat that was crushed or something more..._sizeable._

Ah, but he couldn't. Tarkin was the Emperor's favourite. And with the well senseable hatred going on, any action on Vader's part would be called _biased._

If it were Vader who had to take the punishment for it, it would even be worth it, something Sidious knew well. Which was exactly why only in genuine failure (not happening often), it was him who Sidious took his displeasure out on. Not that Sidious dared to push that either.

The more Sidious pushed, the more Vader hated him, the more that hate made him powerful. A daunting prospect for a school where the teachings were based on the student killing the master, especially when the student already was far more powerful than the master ever would be. 

Ironic as it was, the spark of Anakin Skywalker that still remained, the light and attachment he had for his former Jedi Master, was the one thing that kept Sidious' creation from being perfect and the one thing that allowed him to keep his life.

Not that Sidious had any intention of ever passing on his Sith Mastery to a student, no intention of furthering the Sith Order, no intention of dying at the hand of his student, which was exactly what would happen if Vader ever swallowed Skywalker to the degree that Obi-Wan's well-being became… irrelevant.

Oh, it was a fragile balance they kept. And one that could only exist as long as Sidious would never, ever know how even with the dark side at its highest, for Vader, it was _no option ever_ to risk Obi-Wan. And that Sidious would _never, ever_ get his slimy paws on Luke.

Hence the majority of his bad temper of the past days. The Organas' incompetence had forced his son to shed the best protection he had: anonymity.

When Sidious got wind of a Force-sensitive by the name of Luke Skywalker, a new competition between the two Sith would start. Who captured him first.

Already quaking in his ever so expensive shoes at Vader's power, the prospect of Vader's son backing him would probably make fleeing to Wild Space look pretty damn tempting to the Emperor of the Galaxy.

On the other hand, if Luke were to fall into the Emperor's hands, he'd have the ultimate card over Vader and perhaps even his replacement apprentice, which he'd hope to be at a more manageable level of power. A futile hope, that. As the Chosen One of the Force, there was no being ever in existence that could rival Vader for sheer potential or power, but Luke came the closest any one ever could.

Since Luke's birth, the Emperor had been booted back to third-most-powerful-in the-Force, not that he knew it. Not that he would acknowledge it. Not that he even admitted to Vader's superiority in the field. Even when they both knew it.

How teeth-gnashing frustrating it must be for the esteemed ruler was one of the few thoughts that brought him joy, and one of the few things he kept thinking whenever he was forced into the man's presence. If it came to him to poke at Vader's shields, that would be the first thing he ran into.

Further ironic was that any Sith Master before Sidious would have rejoiced in their own sithly ways at having the power that was Vader as their apprentice.

Vader suspected that perhaps that in combination with the utter disgusting science of controlling the midichlorian to control the creation of life itself were the reason he existed in the first place.

Dark Side and Light Side moved in the unity of the life and death circle of the unifying and living Force, the only two true aspects of the all-encompassing entity, and that science went against that. Causing an imbalance.

Obi-Wan, after he got used to the thought that no, maybe the prophesy didn't mean something as convenient for the Jedi as getting rid of the Sith for them, even conceded the possibility.

But those all were his battles. Luke was not supposed to be involved in that. Fierfek, if Vader had his way, Luke would still be at Bast Castle, tempting fate only by tweaking with the engines of some speeder or fighter or something, or, when he was being completely out of control, teasing along the acid clouds in a something that was not air tight. But Luke had begged and wheedled and no distraction had worked that Vader had eventually (at Obi-Wan's cautious reminders of what Anakin had done when he had not liked being locked in) had to give in.

There had not been, in Luke's very wrong opinion, a mountain of conditions before he'd set Jix to finding an airtight fake identity (because the best fakes were those that existed and weren't made up) under which Luke was allowed to the academy.

That had been two years ago, when the boy had been fifteen and been made to pass for seventeen. One year later he had graduated from in an accelerated course and, as he was a talented pilot, it wasn't that odd for Vader to be interested in him. So Luke had been stationed well within his sight, safe, and generally in a position that had calmed Vader.

And then the Organas had messed up.

Yes, it was true that there was a chance hidden there. By breaking the status quo and dealing the cards out new (not to mention that the stupid Death Star could be taken care of), everything was changing, but that was more on a galactic scale and not one the one that was needed.

The very small question of _where is Obi-Wan's body._

Though, granted, the impact of Luke Skywalker on the delicate Force powerplay scale would be akin to a comet. Chances were, that somewhere, someone in charge of keeping Obi-Wan's body alive would make a mistake that to get back to Vader, what with Sidious doubtlessly being very distracted (and expecting Vader to be the same – to push the priority that was Obi-Wan away down). Or Sidious otherwise lost his calm, messed up, overlooked a small detail, messed up in a way that would give Vader some hint through the Force. That the other side was going to notice things that were so very carefully hidden from Vader and anything that had even the remotest chance of getting back to him but were not hidden as painstakingly from the other side was also a chance.

Things like that. The chances were countless and Sidous had to cover them all. He'll if he were too distracted in a face to face meeting, Vader would steal the information straight from the corpse's mind.

Besides Luke, there was absolutely nothing and no one capable of creating this kind of chaos.

(More irony. Sidious had used chaos to build himself a throne. Now chaos was going to push him off.)

That did not by any stretch of the definition mean that he had to like it. Hated it, in fact, the danger that would be directed at his son.

And it was all because the rebels were incapable of catching a ball they had been looking for for ages. It was unbelievable that it was with such fools that his son would have ally himself. How were they supposed to guarantee his safety?

Was it such a surprise when Vader had not been charitable to the princess?

“Lord Vader,” Tarkin greeted with an oily smile that made Vader stiffen his fingers, lest they become independent. “It is an honour to welcome you on the fully functioning, most magnificent accomplishment of the Empire to date.”

It escaped absolutely no one that Vader did not even give the man an acknowledging glance and the tension in the control centre became strained. Fear of the crew, the Governor's hate gave place to power.

_These people know nothing of strain. _

The princess, as much as she couldn't stand Vader, her loathing of Tarkin eclipsed it by far on sheer principle and a spark of vicious, almost malicious amusement lit in her eyes.

As a politician, the Princess was vicious.

Folding his arms under his black cloak, Vader pretended to be captured by the sight of Alderaan even as he was listening to the verbal slights down the vile man received from a little girl not a third his age.

“Governor Tarkin,” she said pleasantly but icily. “I should have expected you straining Vader's patience. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board.”

“Charming,” Tarkin gave back coldly, adding pointedly, “to the last. You don't know how hard I found it signing the order to terminate your life.”

“I'm surprised you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself,” Organa growled. “However did you managed that? Did you have to hold the Death Star's hand?”

_Point to her._ Tarkin was a man of calculated risks. In other words, the kind that were no risks at all and not taken unless they fell in his favour. The worst kind of coward. Vader shifted his weight, letting the rim of his hood edge to the confrontation.

With as many eyes as there always were, it was another gesture that did not escape attention and signalled that he was attentive of what was happening. Which gave the verbal encounter _importance_.

As much as Vader hated the subtle power struggle, as if it were all there was, he understood the rules and was not above taking advantage of it. The importance that Vader gave it may fall in Tarkin's favour, strengthening his position, or to Organa, giving her a last triumph in her life by humiliating Tarkin on his own bridge.

The Princess resisted torture and Vader's mind probe. He'd gotten lots of information out of her, for example that she was adopted which was not in her official records, some hints that she was introduced to the rebellion though her father, but not the location of any bases, of what she'd hoped to accomplish by entrusting the plans to 3PO of all things (though he had gotten that over Obi-Wan from Luke's side), or of anything other noteworthy things.

This victory was going to the Princess.

Tarkin sighed, as if the Princess was a particularly troublesome child. “I am a man of duty, Princess, something I am sure you cannot understand.” Point to him. “I allow myself only little enjoyment. One of it is that I ask for your presence as a humble ceremony that will make this battle station operational. No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now.”

The princess smiled, mockingly, almost sympathetically for the fool who did not understand. “The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.”

Also true, but this couldn't be counted as a point.

“Not after we demonstrate the power of this station.” Tarkin looked down on her even as she looked down on him. The feat was far more impressive from the princess, her being almost two heads smaller. The vile man smiled kindly. “In a way, you had determined the choice of the planet to be destroyed first. Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the rebel base, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power on your home planet of Alderaan.”

And with that, any amusement Vader might have gotten from this confrontation was gone. _Don't look at me like that, Obi-Wan. _

The princess blanched, horror becoming palpable. "No! Alderaan is peaceful. We have no weapons! You can't possibly -"

Vader turned entirely, a sign, if Tarkin bothered to noticed, that the amount of attention he paid now was too much to be called passing.

Tarkin smelled victory in the air. "You would prefer another target? A _military_ target? Then name the system!" The princess was rapidly losing the bit of color she had managed to regain in the jog she was forced into on the way.

Tarkin advanced on her and she backed away until her guards had their blasters in her back. “I'm getting tired of asking this, so this is to be the last time. Where is the rebel base?”

Her eyes were drawn to her home planet, a bright blue spot in space. Though her breath became uneven and fear rolled off her, resistance was not crumbling. The anger with which she looked at Tarkin was hot and powerful and of the kind that Vader had personal experience with, unfortunately. “I thought you said I did not understand duty, Governor,” she spat. A point to her. The fight went out of her, but even in defeat she had won at least this. Nothing was quite as effecting at turning words back at where they came from. “Dantooine. They're on Dantooine.”

A surge of triumph from Tarkin, a terrified anxiousness in the Princess and a hard core of bitter success when Tarkin believed her.

_She lied. _Vader stared at the little girl. _She dared lying. In this situation._

She was an enemy and Vader had no love for the Alliance to restore the_ Republic, _but sometimes, even enemies had to be acknowledged. After the sheer lack of anything resembling competence in the show of how they had managed to lose the plans, Vader had not thought to see anything worthwhile in the princess.

He was forced to concede he may have judged hastily.

“Continue with the operation,” Tarkin instructed one of his Admirals. “You may fire when ready.”

_Don't look at me like that, Obi-Wan._

“Belay that order,” the Supreme Commander of _all _Imperial Forces, said, softly, yet his voice was well audible over the Princess's protests and Tarkin's cold arguments. His presence flared out, the darkness forcing Obi-Wan away, but drawing every eye to him, as if spell bound. His master's expression, before he was forced to Luke, was one of cautious hope.

The shock in the control centre was choking. Vader may have overall command, but Tarkin was in command _here_, and by giving a contradicting order, he rattled the chain of command. What everyone could agree on, hating him or not, Vader was a military man. They had to be doubting their ears even as they were fighting off imaginary fingers at their throats, caused by his _sheer presence_.

“I am aware that the Emperor has given you permission to demonstrate the capabilities of the Death Star on a target of your choosing,” spoke Vader, before anyone else could find their voice, still softly.

Those having a passing familiarity with him knew that 'softly' and 'Vader' did not go together without worrying reasons. “However before you let yourself be blinded by this station's might, I'll take the liberty of reminding you of several facts, Tarkin.” He said the name with distaste. “First: the princess has resisted interrogation successfully for over a standard week, the first ever to achieve such. Second: the honour of representing a planet in the Senate is not achieved by just anyone. Third: it is only given to those loyal. Fourth: concerning her loyalty, Organa has obviously lied to the Emperor' face. And now the all-important question: What gives you the idea that if the Princess dares lies to the Emperor himself, faced with his formidable power, what makes you think she will not lie to your face? Particularly when you expect that it is all but a given she would break?!”

Organa, first had looked at him first with a desperate hope, but now there was only horror, her face as white as her robes even as she hid her reaction well outwardly.

In contrast, Tarkin had first flushed and angry red and was becoming white with fury. Entertainingly enough, it wasn't clear at who he was angrier. The Princess for lying, because even he could see that likely chance now, or at Vader for undermining his authority and humiliating him on his own bridge.

His steps were languid, dangerous, slow as he finally stepped away from the transpirsteel and crossed the room. “As you have further signed the princess's death sentence, with your order to eliminate Alderaan, you are effectively silencing a breeding ground of rebels. Perhaps a bit harsh, but cleaning up after them all the same. Tell me,” he drawled, with heavy sarcasm. “Are you a rebel in disguise?”

“Lord Vader!” Tarkin shouted, finally, beautifully losing his temper. “Restrain your words! You don't have the authority here! When the Emperor-”

Faster than any of these normal human's eyes could see, a black gloved hand shot out into thin air. Vader knew his eyes were glowing gold with the Dark Side. Lights may be shining, but right now, even when visibly there seemed to be no change, to every last one witnessing this, it must be appearing like night had fallen. Terror was thick.

If Vader closed his hand to a fist, Tarkin, struggling against something invisible as his feet were lifted off the ground, would be dead. The witnesses, Princess Leia, the Admiralty, the crewmen, they all knew it. And almost at once, the realization of _that there was no one to dare stop him _occurred to them. There was no one who _could_ stop him. On the borders of his official authority or not, it was_ Vader_ who had the real power.

To Tarkin in particular it sunk in that _if he kept pushing_ he would be dead and that out here, light years away from Imperial Centre the _Emperor was not here to stop Vader._ It sunk in, that Vader could kill him at any time and that even if he had to pay for it, Tarkin would still be _dead_.

It was _delicious, _that fear.

Teeth gleaming in a smile, visible even through the illusion hiding his face, Vader set Tarkin down almost gently. The room was silent. “The Emperor has entrusted you with this station of his. I doubt I have to remind you of the high expectations he has for it. And by all means - Far be it from me to keep a man as _honourable_,” again heavy sarcasm, “as yourself from doing your duty. However,” with a swirl of his robes, he whirled and his temper was finally set loose. His voice rose to a thunder. “Hunting the Rebels is _mine!_ I will not let your arrogance, your blind foolishness stand in the way of that! If you insist, I_ will _remove you and have someone capable of _strategic thinking_, perhaps such as the _princess_, take command!_ Do you comprehend me?!_”

The walls and the floor had begun to shake with the power in Vader's voice and absolutely everyone was cowed into submission. Best point that Obi-Wan would certainly approve off: it was a verbal victory.

There were rumours that Vader's temper was capable of flattening entire cities. Seeing that temper in person was a different thing altogether. Even the princess, had she had anything to say, would not have the wits about her to form words.

Having no patience to wait until the coward had gathered enough courage for a verbal affirmation, he took the silence as answer. “I will be going down to Alderaan now to conduct my investigation. Enforce a blockade. Jam all communications. Allow no ships to leave the atmosphere, allow no ships to enter orbit. Alert the 501st.” To Tarkin, once he was again capable of baser thoughts, having Vader down on a target planet would be a temptation. Just for that, Vader projected the notion of '_if you dare try shoot me, I'll crush your little toy from planetside like I could have crushed your head _'.

If only reflexively, the man swallowed.

Pleased, Vader nodded to the two troopers just as many as had come left the control centre of the worst technological terror in history.

Unseen, he smirked, sharp and boyish.

_So he_ had _found an outlet for his anger._

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bail Prestor Organa was nothing so much as resigned. _Though fear comes pretty close. _Not fear for himself at this point, of course, but for all the people of Alderaan, all the innocent people who had no idea of the danger they faced or who was responsible for it.

When he had first learned of the Death Star Project, the thought that the superweapon could be turned against his planet had crossed his mind, of course, but he had refused to let himself think of failure, that because of his and his daughter's involvement in not legally approved activities, Alderaan could be the first target.

In his responsibility as leader of the planet, he had _failed._ Far from protecting them, he had put his people into harm's way.

_But what else could we have done?_

If they had done nothing, if they had been good little subjects, even then there had been no guarantee that Alderaan would not have come under fire. How many other planets would come under fire after Aldreaan? _Will come?_

Hadn't it been his responsibility as a being living in the galaxy to oppose this abomination? There was no saying at who it would be pointed or when. How many victims there would be.

That was what he had told himself when he had worked towards a rebellion, what he had kept telling himself even faced with the potential threat of the Death Star.

It all sounded so hollow now.

No a single argument was less legit, but in face of annihilation, they had become meaningless.

And Leia was dead. Or at least announced dead.

_Padme, I have failed you. I'm so sorry. I didn't protect her._

Old grief welled up inside him at the memory of his dear friend, of the last time he had ever seen her. Shot and bleeding, struggling to stay alive in premature birth to deliver twins.

He still remembered like it was yesterday how she had screamed. In pain. For her husband, who would not come, probably didn't even know where she was, probably was better staying away anyway. The absolutely shattering certainty that they could not deliver her to medical aid for she and her children would be killed then. Master Yoda had done his best, but even with his efforts, she had only survived long enough to name her twins.

Bail felt sick at the thought of that husband of hers perhaps having personally killed his daughter. Vader hunted rebels.

And now that very same man had ordered a lock down of the planet and was coming to pick up Bail and any other rebels he could find before the planet would be blown up.

One of only three, perhaps four individuals in the galaxy, Bail knew that the man who was hiding his face with a black cloak was once known as a very different person.

But that man was gone, Master Yoda had said. Even Obi-Wan, as far back as Zigoola had pronounced the Sith as little more than animals. Would he have said that had he known what future his apprentice awaited? For Obi-Wan, if there had been one weakness, it had been Anakin Skywalker.

Bail had not known Skywalker well, but had been familiar enough with him that sometimes he thought he saw flashes of that man still remaining. It was confusing, because Skywalker had not owed obedience gladly, not even to a master he obviously thought of as his best friend. Skywalker had been unpredictable, wild even, traits he could conclude him to have had because his daughter had them and Padme hadn't.

He had not been cruel, and Vader was not c_alled_ that either. Efficient, popular, accomplished. In the Empire, it was all the same.

Jedi Skywalker had been the posterboy of the Jedi Order, the Kenobi-Skywalker team had probably been the most popular phrase of its era. There was not a man, not even the Emperor, who was more loved than Vader. Vader was victorious, Vader protected the citizens, Vader hunted the evil rebels with great success.

_And that great mysterious appeal he has going for him, of course._

Against those very public things that were true, the fabricated popularity lies of the Emperor didn't tend to last. If rumor were to be believed (which Bail was not in the habit of doing), the entire military all but adored the man.

Vader was a military man. Maybe that was why he obeyed. 

But then again, Bail didn't have the Force, so what did he know? He shuddered to think what was hidden from public eye.

Had Leia at least succeeded? Were the plans delivered so that another system could be spared this fate?

As if forewarned by some sixth sense, Bail lifted his head from his hands to watch the heavy doors smash open. Lord Vader, followed by an entire company, streamed in.

The man was seething, that much was clear.

Bail did not put up any resistance. But as he was led away, he could not help asking. “Is my daughter still alive?”

Sithly yellow eyes gleamed. “You may have the cell next to her. Until such a point where she will no longer need it.”

As he was led away, Bail caught the beginnings of the next orders. “I want everyone in the palace arrested. I want everyone who worked in the palace and is still alive arrested. Everything carrying data is to be given to the slicers -”

Well, it seemed Lord Vader was conducting a time intensive investigation. So long at the very least, the planet would be spared.


	6. Han; Luke

“We are coming up on Aldreaan soon, kid.” Han told the immobile figure of Luke, who sat cross-legged, eyes closed, stashed on the seat at the table. No clue what he did, only that he could sit still like that for hours.

An eyebrow twitched, then he returned to the world of the living, motion seeping into his previously slagged face. “Thanks, Han. I need to get to the capital. Can you get down there?”

Han shrugged. “Will have to see. All depends, I guess. Unless you have some special privileges to land, I'd guess the chances stand pretty bad.”

Luke looked irritated. “I'm fresh from a farm. How would I get special anything?”

“The same way you got all that money to pay me with, kid,” Han said, raising an eyebrow. “I don't really want to know more, but you and I both know you ain't a country bumpkin. A bit of advice: if you want to pass for a nobody, you got to get rid of that superiority complex and spend a couple weeks with the scum of the galaxy. It'd go a long way rid you off that I'm-not-normal air.”

That earned him a glare and Han grinned, right up until the kid opened his mouth. “So long as I'm paying you company then, I'm doing fine. One week down only another to go.”

Damn, the kid had a sharp tongue. Snipped back insult for insult. It was true that Han didn't really want to know more about Luke from a professional standpoint, but he was_ curious_. What kind of spoiled rich kid traipsed around the dirtiest places of the galaxy, didn't much care about it, wanted to avoid imperial notice, could be buried neck deep in mechanics and still know what he was doing, claimed to be one of the best pilots in that galaxy, had some patterns that Han recognized from his own time it the galaxy and yet still be at ease in a place that should be as far from his comfort-zone as possible?

One answer, Han had. Child of a Jedi. As according to Chewie.

But what that meant, Han had no idea.

Should probably not be interested in knowing more, either. Everything Jedi had a death sentence hanging over their head, to be excecuted by the chief enforcer himself. By virtue of being a Jedi's son, Luke probably had one too and given how obsessed the Empire had hunted them, just by association Han might get trouble already.

He couldn't really picture that. For one, what exactly demanded that kind of persistence with what had basically been a glorified police force, for another Luke was... well _Luke._

A kid with a hot and fast temper, somewhat awkward in conversations that were with beings that weren't put together from scrap metal, an odd habit of staring at nothing, and what Han all-round could only call 'good kid' no matter the sharp edges. 

“In another week, I'll be back on Tatooine and pay my debt to Jabba with the money won from you.”

“Keep dreaming,” Luke shot back. “I suggest you look for someone else to steal money from. From me you'll only get what you earned.”

Han tossed him a smirk that told quite simply 'bring it on'.

“I'm not going to lose to some spoiled princeling.”

Luke's face blanked and he turned away. “Fresh from a farm Han. Don't go around calling me that.”

“Kid, if I noticed, you can be sure others will notice.”

“Maybe,” Luke said. “Maybe not. And if not, I really don't need you to point things out others missed. What they don't know, they can't spit out in imperial torture.” He snapped his fingers in front of R2's visual receptors. “Come on Artoo. We are almost there.”

Problem was, Han thought, when the kid said things like that with a straight face, chances stood he was serious enough to either truly mean it or that he'd rather claim that then get anywhere close to the truth.

R2 chirped and rushed around, exited, as Luke activated Goldenrod, who Han had insisted to shut the kriff off.

Staring into thin air, the kid choked, his expression becoming one of stark shock. “Change of plans! Not to Alderaan, Han. Change curse! Don't drop out of hyperspace there.” His hands were trembling as he ran them through his hair, for the first time actually showing something like apprehension that even Chewie's anger had not managed.. “Space, I should have thought about this. Of course I can't be the only one - We can't go to Alderaan, Han.”

Han scowled. “Uh-huh. No way. If you want, you can hire me from Aldreaan to bring you somewhere else. But Alderaan first. Don't you go weaselling out of our contact now?”

There was not an inch of understanding on Luke's face as he looked at Han as if he had grown a second head. “What are you talking about?”

“The deal was to deliver you and the droids to Alderaan. No in-between. Changing goal now is as good as saying I didn't keep my end of the bargain and so that thus you won't need to pay,” explained Han, waving his hands.

“You think this is about the money?” The kid's laugh was flat. “Money will be the last of our worries if we drop down on Alderaan.”

Han frowned, getting to his feet. Whatever this was, it seemed it might be worth at least stopping en route to take up discussion again. Though how Luke got that bright idea not even a parsec away from the goal, Han didn't know. But then the kid wasn't exactly normal-

The klaxos screamed a warning, as they always did shortly before reversing to real space.

Luke let out a moan of despair. “You have got to be kidding- What kind of mission is this? End before it's over?” He muttered to himself, voice sounding hoarse. Then his eyes, abruptly, blanked again in the way they did when he was not available for common conversation.

It had crossed Han's mind more than once that the kid might actually have a few screws loose. Was crazy enough for that. Had enough crazy habits for it too. He left Luke to stare holes in the air and hurried himself to the cockpit.

“What do we have, Chewie?”

Han flipped a switch, seated himself and checked the readings as Chewie growled a question.

“I don't know. The kid suddenly freaked out, something about not going to Alderaan. Was right panicked about it too. You'd think if it was that important not to go to Alderaan, he'd think about it earlier. You know before he actually got himself a ride there. Hey - I know, don't look at me like that. Wait! You don't actually believe him? Chewie, he got the idea by staring into nothing. Whoa! Chewie!”

Han dodged a thick wookiee arm as his friend went around gesturing in aggravation and fished for the hyperspace lever. They reversed, but were already in the star system. Batting the paw away, irritated, Han glared. “What is it with you? The kid can say the stupidest things and you believe him.”

Chewie growled, irritated in turn. _“If one of his kind is cautious to go anywhere, it'd be foolishness for us to try. Especially when we don't know what makes him afraid.”_

“His kind again? Come on, Chewie. That again. That's a human kid. What kind are you on about?”

A voice from behind cut in, “the kind where knowing about it is grounds for execution. The kind you don't want to know more about, Han.”

Han swirled around in his seat and lo and behold, the kid stood in the cockpit, watching. He was good at that, at moving without letting anyone on to his presence, but he was also still as white as a sheet under the tan that had so readily grown after his harsh sunburn. The grip he had on the nearest something to stand tight was white knuckled, a thin sheen of sweat covered his face and his gaze was nailed to the depth of space.

Chewie growled a question.

Shaking his head, Luke blew out a heavy breath. “At the very least we should check out the situation before....fleeing.” And here his face twisted in distaste at the idea, even when he still seemed unable to look away from the distant blue jewel that was Alderaan. “Letting my fear control me is...unwise. At least anymore than than it already is,” he muttered bitterly. “What do you read on the sensors? Anything odd at all?”

“Space is all clear, kid,” checked Han, irritated. “Don't know what you were so on about. Someone not happy with you on the planet?” Kreth, the two getting all angsty and serious was giving Han a bad feeling.

“Do you see something that looks like a moon?” The kid asked.

“Looks like a moon?” Han repeated. “You mean a moon? Yeah, there's one over there.” He gestured off to the side at the greyish, silver celestial piece of rock, something the kid couldn't see from where he stood. “Huh, that's odd. The galactic atlas says Alderaan has only one. That's two.”

Leaning in between the pilots' chairs, for better view, Luke's expression became pinched. “That's no moon Han. We need to get out of here. Now.”

Muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath, Han wretched the controls to the side. “Sure is that a moon. What else is that supposed to be? Here, look.”

Luke just had enough time to let out a strangled sound of horror before the Falcon jerked and the controls were taken from Han.

“Hey!” Han tried to pull the Falcon around, or just to give any indication that the controls were still listening. Nothing. “That's a tractorbeam! Where in all Corellian Hells is it coming from?”

The communit crackled. _“Unidentified freighter, you are taken in for questioning. Do not resist arrest. No contact with the Alderann system is allowed. If you refuse to cooperate, His Majesty's forces will deal with you as necessary.”_

Han stared at the comm in disbelief.

“That's an imperial battle station,” said Luke, tightly. “Capable of destroying Alderaan from its position with little more effort than pressing a button. And we just got an invitation that is not to be refused, lest we make a closer acquaintance with space dust than we are comfortable with.” The look he shot Han before leaving the cockpit was intense and had that infuriating arrogance again, like it had on day one, a week ago. “Do you see any reason at all why I was quite possibly not eager to make it here at all?”

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“Great, now what are we supposed to do?”

Luke shot him a glare. “Well, I for one don't know about you, but I want to get of this place before Lord Vader, down on planet, decides _not to stay there anymore.”_

Han spluttered, Chewie yowled and R2 offered his opinion that getting Master Ani to see 3PO would be most fun to see.

“How do you know?” Han demanded, getting angry at something that he didn't want to believe. His stolen uniform clattered like a bag of empty cans.

Luke had never understood how the really good troopers could move without making more noise than the next best assassin. “Oh I don't know,” he shot back sarcastically, “but I'd say a great black wall goes a long way to announcing someone's presence.” Which of course was the only part that was true and that Luke had not edited away.

Going to say that his father's bad mood gave him a headache and that he could hear the angry lecture even macro klicks away as if he were pacing right in front of Luke would probably go a long way to annihilate the trust that had -somehow- grown in the past standard week.

All the while, Luke knew that this was nothing compared to what he'd get when they stood face to face next time, mostly because that would mean Luke had _failed _in one way or another. It was also not to forget that the more Luke was in danger (and on the Death Star was hanging on the skin of his teeth to a blade's edge), the more his father got angry.

Because anger, unfortunately was a knee-jerk reaction. From every emotion to anger. From sadness, from fear, from worry, from pain, guilt, grief, disappointment, resentment, even from hate. Luke had that _slight_ problem as well.

Han kicked the wall. “That doesn't make any sense at all! I suppose it is one of those things that you just know?”

“Yes it is,” Luke snapped back. “Take it or leave it. Not like it matters.” Turning to R2, he said, “Can you show me the best way to the tractorbeam's location? Unless we get that offline, we aren't going to get anywhere. Yes, I know. But we're playing the game differently now. It be best I don't do much cheating.”

The holo sprang up and Luke swore.

_“Language._” Uncle Ben reprimanded on reflex. _“Swearing isn't going to make it better.” _He'd looked in on Luke once after they had taken off from Tatooine and then been forced to his side by the Dark Side. Was it such a surprise Luke had been afraid as voorpak in a nest of gundarks? But at least Alderaan hadn't blown up, and wasn't going to blow up so long as Father was planetside.

“There are seven points the tractorbeam is coupled to the main reactor. Deactivating one of them -that one- will let the Falcon out of here,” Luke told the others. “I can do that. The stormtrooper armour should hold the disguise at least for the most part and if it doesn't, I have other ways to go unnoticed. You stay here and make sure we still have a ship to leave with. Unless,” he added casually when it seemed that there were going to be some kind of objections. “You would like to use this chance to exchange the Falcon with a new imperial ship?”

Han's mouth shut with an audible click and Luke smothered a smirk into a grin. “That's what I thought. Artoo and Threepio, you have to wait here too. Sorry buddy,” Luke patted his best friend's dome affectionately when he rammed Luke's legs in protest. “You've got access to systems here that I might need help with.”

“Master Luke, do be careful. I have heard only the most terrible things about this place,” 3PO worried. “The Princess has been desperate when she has entrusted me with her mission and we must not let her down! I could never face her again-”

“Kid, this is an imperial station,” Han said. “You can't just waltz around it like you owned it. If you get busted - they probably even have a graveyard on a place this big.” He was worried, at least some, though didn't seem to want to admit to it. “And if you get caught, we won't make it off.”

_It's not about want. _“But so far they don't know anyone was even on the Falcon. They won't expect intruders and that gives us time. If we don't use the chances we have, we might as well just march ourselves down to the detention blocks.”

Han grimaced. “They won't fall for that for long. We took out some of them and took over this control station.”

Chewie barked something, impatient and gesturing. 3PO translated, “Master Chewbacca is of the opinion that we are wasting time arguing suggests that either Captain Solo has a better idea and decide if he can give up the Falcon or not.”

That explained the full blown argument Han exploded into. _I don't have time for this. _While the pair was busy arguing, Luke snuck out of the control room and went about his business. Ben nodded in approval.

In a way it was fortunate that the couplings to the tractorbeam were all on the same level. It meant Luke couldn't get confused with the levels he was on and end up some thirty stories higher or lower by accident. On the other hand, the Death Star was moonsized. What looked like a walk in the park on the readout was long enough to hold the Bontha Eve Race.

Since inconspicuously walking the entire way was out, he had to take what accounted for an internal train. Which he wasn't in the use of alone. Which accounted for dangerous encounters among stomtroopers. Luke had naval training, not army.

_...maybe I should switch to a different uniform?_

But it wasn't like they were just hanging around in supply closets.

As Luke ignored the other troopers in hope of passing off as a rude but not at all suspicious fellow, Ben's head turned around slowly and he stared transfixed in a set direction. Somewhat ahead of them, somewhat to the side of them. A frown worked its way onto his face and though Luke poked at him (mentally) he only got the equivalent of a swatted hand in return.

In his half-present-mostly-reliant-on-the-Force state Ben's senses didn't work like they normally ought to do (though Luke didn't know a Ben that was 'normal'). Some things just simply drew his attention in a way that even other Force-sensitives didn't notice, sensed things Luke and his father couldn't (or that were too smothered by the_ other_ things they sensed). But he was extremely limited as well. Being unable to affect his surroundings was frustrating to him, Luke knew, but he was also after nearly two decades of it used to it in a way that was crushing. He had no direct sense of danger since there _was_ no danger to him, though since he was attuned to both Skywalkers dangers, his senses warned him of dangers to them.

Everything he could do was passively based, but those senses were honed to the extreme. If there was something drawing his attention, chances were that it was something Luke would either encounter yet or that was otherwise extremely important.

Luke didn't like it when things had to be improvised, didn't like to take risks (as a child at home that was something different, but no loner now that he could so heavily understand what was at stake, how easily it could all go wrong and end with him kneeling before the Emperor). No, Luke most definitively didn't like that Ben's attention was drawn like that.

Hopping off the transport, trying to look like he knew what he was doing and that this armour wasn't three sizes too big, ignoring the troopers that had tried to strike up a conversation with him, Luke decided to cross the rest of the way to the target on foot. _Can't be too obvious and get carried there all the way._

Only, of course, Luke knew how a basic war ship was run and though the Death Star could not be called that by any means, it was still made for combat and in imperial service, which meant that the rules ought to be somewhat the same. Which meant that somewhere a sign would be given if the tractorbeam was going to be deactivated and then it was all going to be over.

Luke bit his lip in thought. Gamble that it would all go well was one thing – faith and trust, as Ben would call it, in the Force – Luke would prefer to only do that when there was no other option.

The question was now, was there another option?

Luke stood to the side, back straight and hands folded behind his back as a mass of white drew through the corridor. _A platoon on the way to Alderaan, probably. _ _Hmmm...._

Speculating, he eyed the backpacks the last squad carried along.

A wicked grin flashed over his face under the bucked of a helmet that made Ben, distracted as he was, give him a very worried look.


	7. Luke; Bail

Luke swung the backpack over his shoulder, stepped out into the corridor again and pretended he was not doing things he shouldn't.

Ben looked at him wryly. “_This is such an _Anakin_ thing to do. You know not everything successful has to involve explosions.”_

_'But explosions are ever so effective. And besides, what if they'd noticed?'_ Once more, Luke stood off at the side and let other troopers pass. 'By the way w_hat was it that caught your attention?'_

_“Hmm yes, that.” _Ben crossed his arms thoughtfully. “_You want to find the rebellion and with Alderaan on lock down, you don't actually know where to start. Isn't that it?”_

_Yes, but I'm thinking my priority should be on getting away from the Death Star. That is my concern in the moment. I thought I was always supposed to keep my attention to the here and now. Else I lose my way, get confused in the past and future and my judgement is useless in the present and in danger. _

_“That is true. But if you forget the bigger picture, or as it may be, subtle waves of the Force, your judgement is not as good as it could be. Or there may be things you overlook. The situation following the present might actually become worse. Think of the saying 'from the frying pan into the fire'. A temporary solution is no conclusion.”_ Ben explained. He was in what Luke's father tended to call 'lecture mode'._“Even in this situation that is true. If you manage to escape here with Han and Chewie and your robotic friends, perhaps even undetected, you will be back to square one. Having the plans but not knowing what to do with them. You don't have the resources to challenge the station by yourself either. And with that, all stalling Anakin can manage before he decides it becomes to_ risky_ to my person.”_ Disgust and disagreement slipped in Ben's voice there, but Luke had long since learned to block out when his under developed self-preservation instincts spoke up.

Ben had no idea what he was worth. If it didn't sound like (and was) excuses, there were countless reasons why Ben had to survive this Sith rule. For example: who else was supposed to revive the Jedi Order? Anakin-Skywalker-who-smashed-the-Order-and-was-Darth-Vader or Luke Skywalker-who-wanted-to-let-the-none-sensitives-decide-for-the-galaxy-and-their-lives-alone-so-longs-as-it-didn't-involve-those-he-can't-live-without? They both failed rather spectacularly at key characteristics that Jedi needed and Father didn't have all that much fondness for Jedi. At all. Hated them, in fact. But the Jedi were ever so useful for peace and keeping it.

_I get your point._ Luke conceded._ I'll try to remember that. But what has that to do with anything?_

_“Oh nothing much,”_ Ben said, his eyes oddly guarded (who did he need guard from?), _“it is just that if you head to what I assume to be a detention block, the one nearest to your ship, you will find a rebel, likely more in those cells.”_

Luke's commlink beeped. Giving Ben an odd look, Luke dug the thing out from where he had stashed in on the clunky armour. “Yes?”

“_Master Luke! I am so relieved I could reach you. I don't know what else to do and Capitan Solo is – I dare say – not understanding the significance of this rather momentous piece of discovery. The odds of it -”_

Rolling his eyes, Luke cut in with a patience 3PO's presence was developing in him. “What is it, Threepio?”

_“It's Mistress Leia! Artoo-Detoo in his, in my opinion rather unwise, scanning of the system has confirmed her presence abroad. Oh, what are we going to do, Master Luke?”_

For a very long moment, the galaxy stopped spinning and held its breath as Luke stared at the comm like it had sprouted a grilled cheese demanding head.

They were odd, these moments. Luke knew what they were, intellectually, but even if they weren't and had happened to Luke more than a handful of times, he doubted he'd ever get used to them. They were important, the far-spread sight-effect-and-consequences dynamics of the unifying Force brought to a peak in in-the-moment decisions of the living Force. The very essence of the all-encompassing Force. Of everything being tied to everything.

Unfortunately, as the Force itself waited for the new domino stone to be toppled, it told Luke absolutely nothing what choice was the right one. No, the best one. There was right and wrong for the galaxy at large, there was ethical right and wrong and there was what was right and wrong for Luke. The best choice would be if it covered all three 'rights' in one, but there was no guarantee for it.

In the end all there was left for Luke to do was _choose_. Trust either his instincts against his feelings against his heart against his mind or not.

_(Indignation flashing, a personal insult. Disgust at the very thought snapping in passionate brown eyes, set in a beautiful face. )_

Whatever her words may have said or denied, Princess Leia was sincere with her feelings. Passionate. Didn't try to hide them, to change them. How many had the courage for that? Luke hadn't. And Luke -

The thought of abandoning her, leaving her to die in a dark cell, miserable and in pain and without hope, _alone_, made Luke sick in a way he couldn't describe. Took him by the throat and choked until all he could think about was a black galaxy.

It was no choice at all.

His hand started shaking and in an effort to hold still, he almost crushed the commlink. Bit by bit the galaxy started turning again as Luke's choice was made and the weight of it lifting from his shoulders was disorienting. He felt weak suddenly, as if every second (and it could not have been many) the galaxy stood still he had held up a destroyer with his own hands.

“Where is she?” He asked, his voice coming out demanding, almost harsh in the way his father tended to become when he was getting angry. Luke wasn't angry. But the feelings he thought he felt creeping up on him were intense and familiar nonetheless. And that, easily and quickly swung into frustration and anger.

When Han wrestled the commlink from 3PO, Luke's anger was already gnawing away at his (little) patience. _“Hey kid, what are you thinking about? Don't tell me I have to remind you we, as in you and we, aren't exactly on vacation in the next best friendly neighbourhood.”_

“The location. Threepio?” Luke brought out through gritted teeth. Han was a good person, but it was all buried in denial and practised effort not to be. Luke had no mind to spare his identity crisis. Couldn't he stick to that when time wasn't pressed?

Han and 3PO spoke over each other. _“Certainly Master Luke. Artoo-Detoo-”_

_“What the kreth do you think you -”_

_“-you heard Master Luke. Now -”_

_“-are doing, kid? I'm not here to stage some rescue. Not for-”_

_“- where is she?”_

_“-a Princess, I ain't risking my skin. This trip is already-”_

_“Master Luke, it appears she is on Level Five, Detention block aa-23.”_

_“-way more than I bargained for.”_

Behind the helmet, Luke's eyes narrowed and flashed. “If money is all you care for, then money will be all that's left to care for you, Han.” He all but spat, before switching to a cold, dismissive tone. “On that note, do care to remember that there are very few people in the galaxy who have more money than royalty. _If _you can stick around long enough.” Deactivating the line before anything could be said back to him at all, Luke forced out a heavy breath and most of his emotions with it.

They were distracting, and that was something Luke couldn't allow right now. 

_Level five, block aa-23. Where is that supposed to be?_ Luke may have seen the Death Star's plan before, but beyond the weakness and the superlaser, his interest hadn't extended. Even if it had, remembering the layout of a moonsized station was a feat akin to listing every street on Coruscant. Luke had had no interest to do that unless he _had_ to. 

R2 had the plans and an access to the system right now, but Luke was in no mood at all to call them back. All his effort in releasing his emotions would be wasted and he'd be back at square one.

How to find it....if he could at least sense her-

Suddenly, Luke turned his eyes on Ben. Well-hidden as his facial expressions were, his uncle didn't need them at all to read Luke. He folded his arms expectantly.

_You know where the detention block is?_

An eyebrow raised, dubious. _“Quite possibly.”_

_Can you lead me there?_ Luke asked, already expecting a positive answer.

_“No.”_

Luke missed a step and, despite all his practice to pretend he couldn't see someone others couldn't, turned his head incredulously. “What?”

It wasn't a joke. Ben wasn't amused and didn't have that gleam in his eyes that he got when he was internally laughing. In fact, his face was set in disapproval.

_What?_ Luke repeated silently and defensively.

Ben stared at him a moment longer, sternly, as if expecting Luke to figure out what he had done himself and when nothing came, he sighed. _“Luke, the rebel I noticed might quite likely be brought to another block. There is nothing I can do to help and my instincts aren't yours. Relying on me, you rely on something that might disappear from one moment to the other. It's dangerous and not something you should get in the habit of doing.”_ A severe and heavy pause, then he said without any inflection, _“I can't help you.”_

“Nothing is going to happen to you!” Luke protested vehemently, once again forgetting that he wasn't alone or in the (semi) privacy of his mind as an icy spike of fear dug under his ribs. “Nothing! Because – because it _can't_, Ben. I won't _let_ it. _Father _won't let it.”

Ben just sighed, deep and unhappy._ “You are letting your fear speak for you, Luke. Let it go. Just _let it go._”_

Suddenly, they were having a different conversation. Luke's face twisted in a wretched grimace. “I know. I know that. But I_ can't help it_. I don't even want to. Not if it means giving up on you. _I can't. _I don't want to let go if it means I'll leave you to die.” He shuddered. “To something_ worse _than death.”

How often did they fight about this? Much too often. Ben thought his life was not worth the galaxy. Father begged to disagree. Luke was happy that he had not been forced to choose that far yet. (And was afraid of what his answer might be.) Ben had different thoughts of what he imagined the galaxy to be like and he didn't want to be a burden on Luke and his former student either. He thought they should just let him face his fate. That it was his duty even as a Jedi.

_“And I'm not asking you to,”_ countered Ben, sadly and heavily. _“Letting go of your fear doesn't mean that. It's not mutually exclusive. Let go of your fear for me and still try your best.”_

Luke shuddered. “I – _I can't_.” He was almost pleading. Pleading for Ben to understand.

Ben's expression shut down. Rejection, disappointment, his special brand of anger-but-not-really._ “You are mistaking 'cannot' and 'will not'. I don't expect things from you that you can't, but don't hide behind 'can't' when you simply do not care to try,”_ he all but snapped and disappeared.

The shudder this time was entirely different, from a cold so horribly it crawled over his skin, sunk into his flesh and festered in his bones. Terror. Fear. Loneliness and the horror that it could become permanent. Fear of loss. _Uncle Ben. Father._

In the wake of that kind of pain, Luke knew what he could become. And that too scared him.

He was full of fear. It defined him, almost. Even if he were willing to try let got of it, would the person that was left still be him? And that too, scared him.

Against everything else, that fear was numbing. Nothing could compare to it. Annoyance, his lack of patience, the chance that he'd misjudged Han, anger. Luke punched a code into his commlink, and had 3PO answer it. Within moments, he had the best route to the detention block.

He didn't ask if Han was still there.

It was only then, when he turned his thoughts to the present and to outwards attention, that he noticed the conspicuous absence of any soldier even in passing.

_Not getting shot at. Not confronted._ Luke was very good at tactics in theory. In practice he didn't know if there were more possibilities, but the one move he thought this was, was a trap. What, where and why, he didn't know, though he could guess. _If they listened in on the conversation...it isn't difficult to detect unauthorised ones and then listen in...._

When he had been a kid, and he bothered Ben into telling him stories, there was one phrase that would inevitably pop up. “Spring the trap.” It wasn't until now that he understood the idea behind it. He'd always said it was stupid walking into it. Traps were made to_ trap_, to put at disadvantage after all.

But the flip side was heavy: why should he bother with the extra effort it'd take to avoid it when it lead him exactly where he wanted to go? When Tarkin (or whoever else) had already gone through the trouble of cleaning the way for him? Plus, since he walked into it knowing it was a trap, the not to be underestimated surprise factor was gone.

Luke grinned. This might actually become fun.

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Bail faced interrogation and a dilemma.

Leia faced termination.

As Lord Vader had promised, he'd been brought to the cell next to his daughter. Had even be allowed to see her once (and she'd looked frightened and worn out and sick, with ever so much emotion flashing in her eyes), though he was under no illusions that it was an act of kindness. Mockery, cruelty, a first warning of what he was going to face. Of what they could make his daughter face to make him break. The order to terminate was not _immediate_, after all. And it was a nice threat over his head.

Softening him up, in professional terms.

At least, from the general air, he had gathered that the plans were still missing. Leia had succeeded. Hopefully they'd be in Master Yoda's hands by now, well on the way to the rebellion. Perhaps Alderaan would be spared the fate that hung over it. Maybe.

Bail allowed himself that bit of hope.

Even if that meant his and Leia's fate would end with the Death Star.

Which was precisely his dilemma.

He was her father and every father loved his daughter. Loved them enough to die for. If Bail had the option of dying for her, he'd gladly take it, but he wasn't let off that easily.

It was far more damning, with far wider reaching consequences.

The question was, could he damn her to die with him or risk the chance that she might become another Vader. He loved her and raised her well, her morals were high, her demand for justice powerful. There wasn't an evil bone in her, but when she lost her temper, she struggled to keep with that.

If she should ever get as lost in her anger as Vader, then Bail's bid to save his daughter would kill millions and enslave whatever rest of the galaxy that wasn't yet.

Could he risk it? Could he allow himself to risk it?

Oh, he had faith in her. He didn't think Leia could -what did the Jedi call it? - _Fall_. But he was her _father_.

_Like Obi-Wan had been to Skywalker,_ a cynical voice whispered.

Obi-Wan had had faith in Skywalker too. Not once in a hundred lives would he have expected the boy he was not allowed to think of as his son or brother to turn on him and slaughter their fellow Jedi. Even the children.

Bail had never been there when his friend had found out, had never seen him again, in fact, and a part of him was absurdly grateful for it, as horrible as it was to be glad a man as self-damning as Obi-Wan Kenobi had to face the ultimate betrayal alone.

What had he been thinking? What had he done when he found out?

Master Yoda had said he'd send him to confront Vader, while he took the newly named Emperor. Only Yoda was ever seen again. In dark nights, when he let his thoughts wander that far, that morbidly, he wondered if Obi-Wan had even put up a fight.

He had been a great Jedi, perhaps the greatest of his age, exemplary, Bail had heard from others (never anything but criticism from Obi-Wan himself), but his own observations had not allowed him to miss how much Obi-Wan had gone out of his way for his former student. Bail hoped Obi-Wan's death had been painless, but morbidly he was aware that 'pain' probably had never even come close.

Bail was like Obi-Wan now. He was blinded, too close to judge. Yet every bone, every moral fibre, every instinct screamed at him to try.

If Vader would even care.

_Another wonderfully morbid thought._ _If he killed Obi-Wan, would he care for his own daughter's life?_

Vader wasn't as out of control violent anymore as he had been the first two years, not as reeking of evil as he had then. Most of the time, Bail thought he was cold. The kind of coldness that seeped into the soul. Cold, hard and methodical. No cruelty, but no kindness. No morals, but also nothing standing out as the absolute evil he was supposed to be. And above of all, _following orders. Military._

And Leia was a traitor.

Even if he would have a spark of caring for her for being Padme's daughter, his own flesh and blood, she was a traitor now. Vader had no forgiveness for traitors.

Likely as not, him knowing about her would not make a difference. Would perhaps only make it worse. Because it would be his own flesh and blood who was a traitor to the Empire he helped build and uphold. And if there was one thing that any being with any sense at all should avoid, it was making Vader_ angry._

Yet she was Bail's _daughter_. What kind of father did it make him when he was not trying his everything to save her?

His thoughts ran in circles. Back and forth and never stopping and when he finally thought he'd come to a decision, a thought would occur to him and make his shaking argument tumble down.

But thought it all, he clung to hope. They were both still alive. It was not over till that changed. Master Yoda was still out there and Leia's brother too. Allies were still out there. The Force might still be with them. Hope was still alive.

It was about then that the door to his cell hissed up and a Stormtrooper stared at him impassively.


End file.
